The first time . . . he couldn't stop staring at her face. Her eyes seemed to reflect a serenity and wisdom unusual for a woman in her 20's. Her face had smooth, invitingly caressible skin bordered by medium-length auburn hair. The red hair gave her an additional aura of attractiveness since he had always been very fond of red hair. Auburn hair was not as brilliant as the Titian red hair he adored, but it still added to her special allure and reflected a harmony with her burgundy-colored evening dress.
He could feast his eyes on her undetectedly as he stood a safe 50 feet away at the opposite end of the bar counter in a noisy, crowded, and dimly lit singles bar called the Smuggler's Inn. He could tell she was a new cocktail waitress because he came at least once every two weeks and had never seen her before. He didn't try to talk to her that first time. He was content to admire her alluring beauty as something in the world to merely behold and appreciate, like an unusually beautiful flower or a captivating sunset.
Several years before, he had dated cocktail waitresses because he had found it easier to get to know them since many times the other women he met in bars never came back again. They were usually out on the town for one time and that was it. Barmaids you could get to know better because you could count on their being there when you returned. Besides they were generally attractive; after all, they were especially picked for that reason. Then again the aura they presented as knowledgeable women of the world made them that much more challenging to a naive young man. But after a bad experience with a bar waitress several years back, he had been disabused of the notion that chasing one could be rewarding.
He had gone out several times with one in the early morning hours after she got off work. Then one evening it surprised him when she said she wouldn't be able to go anywhere with him that night. Afterwards in the parking lot, he saw her and another waitress get into a car with two guys. He swore never to date a cocktail waitress again.
The next two times he went to the Smuggler's Inn, he saw the new waitress but was able to ignore her. The place was small but very popular and got very crowded on Friday nights. There were always many people standing in the aisles and at times there was hardly any room to walk. Most of the men didn't seem to mind standing because it made it easier to move quickly and unobtrusively to ask a woman to dance. One Friday, he was having a good night getting women to dance. His good looks helped, but they were never a guarantee. Sometimes it was next to impossible to get anyone to dance. He had met many women at the disco but had not found one to be serious with. At one point between dances, Mike was standing alone.
"Do you want a drink?" a voice came from his left. He turned and saw it was the new waitress standing there with her small tray, smiling.
"Yes," he answered after a slight hesitation, "I'll have a vodka Collins." He had to yell the order into her ear to overcome the loud music. Without a word more, she went to other people to ask for more orders. It was a long time before she returned. The bartenders were swamped with work.
When she delivered the drink, he tried further communication, "Looks like it's pretty busy again tonight."
"You're telling me," she said with a smile but went off immediately to serve her other orders. He remained standing there thinking and realized that waitresses rarely offered to bring drinks to the people standing. They generally only bothered with the patrons sitting at the tables since they tipped better and, unlike many standers, would still be there when their drinks were brought. He wondered why she had asked him. Had it been simple whim or could it have been attraction? Maybe he looked like a big tipper.
He didn't think anymore about it. In the following weeks, he continued to make it a point to order drinks from her, and she was always pleasant. He never had the chance to talk to her for very long, but he learned her name was Marsha. He still hadn't noticed her serving drinks to any of the other people standing around. It looked like she enjoyed treating him special. He had the urge to ask her for her phone number but didn't want to rush things. He wanted her to feel familiar with him so there would be less chance of her saying "no."
Finally one night, he decided it was time to ask. After she had served him a drink, he gently put his hand on her upper right arm, drew close so she could hear him and told her as gently as possible considering the loud music, "I'd like to get to know you better. Can I have your phone number?"
"I'm hardly ever home. You wouldn't be able to catch me," she replied quickly with a smile. She kept rearranging the empty glasses she was taking back on her tray.
"Don't worry. I'll keep trying until I reach you," he came right back.
"I'm here a lot of the time. Why don't we just talk here?" and with that she whisked off. She hadn't been rude so he wasn't offended, just frustrated. He followed her with his eyes as she walked away. He pictured himself standing in front of her reaching to caress the soft, soft skin of her cheek as she stood with her eyes closed, smiling with pleasure.
How would they ever be able to have any kind of conversation? With all the loud music and interruptions, he found it hard enough to talk to other customers. The times he had talked to her they had only had a chance for a few superficial comments. He had assumed that she would jump to give him her phone number since she had been so friendly before. He had been silly to let his heart get so far ahead of things. She was probably just as friendly to everyone, part of being a good waitress--it brought more tips.
Mike was determined not to let Marsha affect him when he returned after staying away for almost two months. Carlos, whom he had met there before, came up to him. They talked briefly about their jobs, sports, other things talked about in discos by people who didn't know each other very well. Carlos mentioned that he had broken up with his latest girlfriend and moved to another apartment. Mike thought of how it had been a long time since he'd had a girlfriend himself. At 23, he couldn't even say there had ever been anything deep. He talked excitedly about his new apartment because it was the first time he had ever lived on his own. He was the youngest child and his mother was an invalid. Besides, he would have never gotten his recent bachelor's in electrical engineering without living at home the whole time. Recently, his mother had been supportive of his moving out on his own.
After a lull in the conversation, it occurred to Mike that Carlos might know a little about Marsha since he normally came at least twice a week. He often had different kinds of information to pass on about people there. Mike tried to think of a casual way to bring up the subject.
"Hey, that waitress there hasn't been here that long, has she?" he asked as he pointed her out.
"Marsha? She's been around a while. She worked at the Lemon Piper for a long time." After a short pause, Carlos added, "Yea, she's not a bad looking woman."
"I wonder why she left? The Lemon Piper's a pretty classy place."
"I think she quit when she got married about a year ago."
"She's married, huh," Mike was surprised by the revelation but tried to hide any real interest.
"Yea, but I heard she's separated now, waiting for her divorce to come through. I guess that's why she came back to work," Carlos volunteered the information matter-of-factly.
"Sounds like that marriage soured real quick. Maybe she's a real bitch," Mike said laughing and still trying to get whatever information he could.
"Could be, but you'd never guess it from the way she is, would you?" Carlos didn't seem too interested in talking about Marsha. A friend stopped to talk to him.
Mike stood there alone trying to digest the information he had gotten. It was confusing, but the picture improved as he thought more about it. He felt sorry for her for having to go back to work. Perhaps she had refused to give him her number because she felt uncomfortable about seeing anyone else since she was still married. He had heard of lawyers telling their clients waiting for a divorce not to date, especially if they wanted to get custody of their children. Even if she wasn't concerned about a divorce battle, she could have hesitated because she didn't feel in the mood to go out. She was understandably depressed. It wasn't that she didn't like him or that she wouldn't want to see him sometime in the future.
He tried hard to spot her, but couldn't. Finally he saw her near the bar. He felt like talking to her. He moved toward the place where she was, but before he got there, she moved to take orders at a table. There were several people at the table so it would take her a while before she finished and then she would have to hurry to the bar to get the orders. After waiting around and realizing that she was not going to have even one free moment to talk, he went home. It would be better to return on a week night when there would be more of a chance to talk.
The next week went by, but Mike didn't have a chance to go. His new job with Raytheon sometimes required that he go out of town. He got around to going on Friday, knowing it would be just as bad as any other Friday with no chance to talk to her, but he figured he could at least say "hi."
He got there to find the usual wall-to-wall people. There were a lot of attractive ladies, and he thought if nothing else maybe he could meet somebody new. He felt full of energy, ready for some excitement. The music helped give him a boost, it sounded sharp and clear. He went to the bar and ordered a drink. Marsha was nowhere in sight.
"Hey, stranger, what are you doing here? Haven't seen you in a long time," he went up and told Sophie, a woman he had met there the year before. He liked her, but she already had a boyfriend.
"I stopped coming for a while," she replied. "You come too much and you start feeling like part of the furniture." As they talked about what each had been doing lately, Mike tried to spot Marsha but couldn't see her anywhere. The thought crossed his mind that she could have quit and then he might never see her again. Mike and Sophie danced several dances, and then another guy came and asked her to dance. Mike saw Marsha for the first time as she was getting an order from a table next to the brightly lit fireplace in the corner. Joe, a guy he knew from before, came up and started a conversation with him. Before long Carlos entered the discotheque and came to where they were.
As they were talking, Marsha unexpectedly came up. "You need anything to drink?" she asked, directing her question to no one in particular.
"Yeah, I could use another one," Joe said.
She looked at Mike with a smile and their eyes met. "Vodka Collins?" she asked him.
"Yeah, please." She remembered what he drank. She went to get the drink as Carlos and Joe returned to the conversation. Mike thought about how he would have preferred to have been alone. Then again she would have probably flitted off quickly in her usual rush. Maybe it would be best to let time go by, maybe until she got her final divorce.
When Marsha came back with the drinks, Mike gave her the money directly in her hand rather than on her tray. He wanted to see if he was going to get any kind of positive sign from her, but she acted indifferently.
"That Marsha looks as good as ever," said Joe after she left.
"Yeah," agreed Carlos. "Do you remember when she worked at the Lemon Piper?"
"Yeah," Joe said slowly as if pictures of the past were going through his mind.
"I guess she had to come back to work when she got separated," Mike interjected.
"Huh-uh, I bet she won't be hard up for long," Joe remarked laughingly. "Not if she doesn't want to."
"She must make a lot of money in tips, huh," Mike said.
"Marsha does tricks," Joe said.
"Really? How do you know?" asked Mike.
"I know some guys she propositioned back at the Lemon Piper," Joe answered confidently.
"Yeah, I heard that, too," added Carlos.
Mike didn't press for any more information. Carlos and Joe soon wandered off as he stood there finishing his drink and then left for home.
Mike didn't go back for a long time. He had decided to forget about her. He didn't condemn her for selling her body, and while he didn't feel any great repulsion toward her personally, he still felt a confused aversion toward the situation. Then he remembered longingly how beautiful she was in spite of everything. He found himself fantasizing that he could change her life.
It was not until six months had passed that he decided it was safe to go back. By then he felt she would no longer have any effect on him. He had been out on dates recently but nothing had developed. The night went by quickly as he talked to many of his old acquaintances and danced many times. He didn't see Marsha the whole night. She might have only been absent that particular night, but he assumed she had quit and he would never see her again.
The next week he had been there more than an hour and still had not seen her. He was curious to know what happened to her, so he decided to ask another waitress, "Does Marsha still work here?"
"No, she quit a long time ago."
"Did she go work somewhere else?"
"Yeah, I think she went to some other bar but nobody knows where. She said she wanted a quieter place to work."
"Oh, yeah."
"They say she had cancer, you know," the waitress said.
"Cancer?" Mike exclaimed.
He left early feeling an entangled combination of sadness and elation. At first he didn't understand why he felt happy, but then he realized it was because he understood now why she had sold her body. It was a matter of pure necessity--to pay the bills. She probably didn't have any medical insurance and her husband wasn't helping any. He wanted very much now just to soothe and console her. Her husband might not want her but he did.
After leaving Smuggler's Inn, he decided to go to some of the smaller, quieter bars where she might now be working. In a quiet place, it would be that much easier to talk. It would be enough now if they could just be friends. He went to two places but she wasn't there. He wasn't discouraged at all. There were plenty more places where she could be and he was willing to look in all of them. It was late now, but he would continue his search another night. When he found her, he would tell her that he accepted her no matter what. Even if she couldn't beat the cancer, he could help fill her final days with enchantment and love.
He looked for several weeks on several nights each week but could find her nowhere. He was starting to get discouraged but kept trying. He went back to some places a second time in case he had missed her on a day off. Neither was he too embarrassed to go back to Smugglers' Inn to ask the waitresses and bartenders if they knew where she had gone, but no one knew. She hadn't told anyone where she was going. Mike despaired. For all he knew she was already dead. After he had looked in every possible place, he was hit by a depression that held him down for two weeks.
When he was ready to try again, he went to different bars at random--just in case--but without much hope. Mainly he went because he didn't want to feel he had given up completely. Then one night he couldn't believe what he was seeing. She was standing on the other side of the bar at the Wagon Wheel, a small country and western night club. She was waiting to get some drinks from the bartender. Mike walked over slowly to where she was to make sure it was really her. He remembered looking carefully in this club before, but he hadn't seen her.
As he approached, she saw him and smiled in recognition. "Hi," she said.
"Haven't seen you in a long time. How've you been?" he said as he reminded himself to control his excitement.
"O.K." she said simply as she picked up the tray with drinks. "Excuse me, I have to go serve these drinks." He was still stunned that he had found her and now, after all this anxious searching, he wasn't sure how to begin. She looked just as beautiful as ever but somewhat run down and weak. There were faint circles under her eyes, and it looked like she had lost weight.
"How come you stopped working at Smugglers'?" he asked when she got back.
"It was just too hectic. The money was good, but I wanted to take it a little easier."
"This certainly looks like a quiet enough place."
"Yeah, it is. Excuse me," she said as she went to check on a table. When she got back, they talked about her new job, and he told her a few things that had happened to him in his job.
Then he decided to tell her what he had wanted to for so long, "Listen, I'd like to get together with you. I want to get to know you better. I've wanted to for a long time. I think we could have a great time."
"I think you're real nice," she said looking down with a smile, "but right now I'm just not going out at all. I'm just happy staying to myself. Maybe later but not now." She put her hand on his forearm briefly.
"You're just afraid. I know what you're going through, and I could help you a lot. I know I could. I'll stay with you no matter what." Mike knew he was risking that he would scare her off by coming on too strong, but he felt it might work to bring her out of her shell, especially since it looked pretty hopeless anyway.
She looked up startled but with a look in her eye that seemed to appreciate his sincerity, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm doing fine."
"I know. I heard about it. I know you're dying of cancer."
"What are you talking about?" she looked surprised.
"They told me you were dying of cancer," he stated confidently.
"I don't know who told you that but it's a lot of bull," with that she hurried to wait on tables. He stood there, not fully realizing what had happened and then it hit him how unfounded rumors so often got passed around in singles' bars. He was embarrassed but decided to stay around to try to apologize. After a long time, she still hadn't returned. It became clear she was trying to avoid him so he left.
For days he thought about how much of a fool he had made of himself. He felt angry at that waitress back at Smuggler's Inn and her careless mouth. He thought about all the time he had spent looking, and Marsha was just an ordinary whore.
After several months he had forgotten her for the most part, but he sometimes wondered what it would have been like if the fantasy had been true and they could have been together if only for a short, bittersweet time. One day he went back to the Wagon Wheel. He felt like looking at her from afar just one last time, and then he would forget her forever. He waited for a long time but didn't see her anywhere. He figured it was her day off and started to leave. He would just make himself forget her and that would be it. Then he decided to ask another waitress where Marsha was, just to be sure.
"Excuse me, is Marsha off tonight?" The waitress seemed surprised by the question.
"She doesn't work here anymore."
"Oh," Mike said without surprise.
"Did you know her?"
"Well, yeah. I met her a while back," he answered casually.
"Didn't you hear? She died. She had cancer."
"What? Are you sure? Marsha?"
"Yeah."
The hot, dry August wind was just the way Dave Phillips remembered it in El Seco. It had been at least 10 years since he had been back, but childhood memories were still vivid. As he drove west on the freeway, he could see how the housing subdivisions had spread to the foothills. The city had been one of the fastest growing in the country. He had enjoyed his childhood here, and his parents had chosen to remain even though he had pleaded with them to move where they could be closer to him. They had in turn begged him to come back to El Seco, but it had been out of the question. He had established an excellent reputation as a neurosurgeon in New York, associated with Columbia Presbyterian Hospital. He worked longer hours than he liked but otherwise it was very satisfying to be at the top of his profession. Coming back to El Seco, even as the top surgeon in the city, would simply be out of the question. No matter how much he might enjoy coming back to live closer to his parents and in a place where he had developed early roots with people still around whom he remembered as childhood friends, he knew he wouldn't be happy. There wasn't a laboratory where he could become involved in research, something he thought he might like to do someday.
He wondered how El Seco was for a single man. There was certainly an abundance of women in New York City, but supposedly that wasn't the case here. An old friend had complained about that, but more importantly he said, many women didn't seem very impressed with a professional man. He was a sharp, good-looking accountant working in an established firm.
In spite of all, he still enjoyed coming back to see old friends and he was especially excited about this afternoon. He was driving to Michelino's, an old winery hidden in the hills on the west side of the city, near the Mexican border. The organizers of their 20th year high school reunion thought it would be a good spot to meet. It was supposed to be informal so Dave was wearing a pair of white shorts and a short-sleeved maroon polo shirt. He was looking forward to seeing many of the people from his Coronado High School class of 1970. He had known some of them since grammar school. There had been about 600 graduates, and he probably knew about 400 of them even if only distantly. He had taken out his old yearbooks last night to help him refresh his memory on names and faces.
In school, he had never been one of the popular people nor one of the members of the "in" social groups that came into existence, but he had distinguished himself by making good grades and coming out often on Dean's List. He hadn't been conscious of it at the time, but he had yearned to be popular and held in special esteem. He had thought about it in more recent years and realized how much of a force a feeling of inadequacy had been toward his drive to excel. He remembered how he had daydreamed of going on to be some great success and have everyone he had known in school talk of how great he was. They would tell their friends and remind their relatives that they had known him; it would make them speak proudly of having gone to school with him; the newspapers would refer to him every so often as a great El Secoan who had made a name for himself. At first he had dreamed of being a great baseball player who would be seen on television all the time. That fantasy faded as he found that he could rise to being no more than an average player on the high school baseball team. He found that he could shine in academics and so shifted his goal to becoming a doctor or engineer. His supporting dream of success stayed with him through high school, through college, and even to some extent, after he had already become a doctor.
Dave wondered about two people he remembered in particular. One was Margaret Hawkins who had turned him down when he had asked her to go to the Junior Prom. It had been an upsetting disappointment. It was true that he hadn't known her especially well, but he had been confident that she would accept. She didn't have a boyfriend; it was said she didn't even date very much. He had walked up to her in the hall right after English class and very calmly asked her if she would be his date. She said "no" politely, but curtly. It was immediately clear that she could not be moved to reconsider her firm decision, and she gave no explanation.
She showed up with someone else and he found another date, too. Her date had not been anyone special. Dave didn't think she knew him much better--spent the whole evening trying to figure out why the other guy and not him. His date was a girl he had known for many years from close by in his neighborhood. He had brooded on Margaret's rejection not only that evening but for a long time to come. Dave wondered now whether she had any regrets about that rejection. Lately he had caught himself fantasizing a little on what might happen if she were single like he. He had heard that she was still an extremely beautiful woman and so inevitably not one who would be in any way needy of men who would be interested in her. In fact, she had been so attractive that she had moved to Hollywood soon after graduation to seek a career as an actress.
As he drove up the hill and came within sight of the winery, he could feel nervousness. He had hardly seen any of the people in the intervening 20 years. He could hear music coming from the large, old stone building. Dave said "hi" near the entrance to a guy named Jay who was standing there as if waiting for someone. He was trying to remember his last name but couldn't. He hadn't known Jay very well.
The music was coming from an old jukebox, old songs from the time like "Tracy," by the Cufflinks, and there were already a hundred people. A band was setting up, Lonnie Leroux and the Lancers, made up mainly of graduates from the previous class of 1969. The first person Dave ran into was Fred Farrell. They hadn't seen each other since graduation, and Fred was jubilant. He introduced Dave to his wife who had gone to a high school on the east side of town. Fred was overweight but he had always been stocky. He had played tackle on the junior high football team. Dave had also been on the team but never went on to play in high school. He had always been very thin. They immediately went into exchanging the usual information on what each had been doing since the last time they had seen each other. Fred said he had been in insurance for many years and was impressed with Dave's accomplishments.
As Dave later talked to Mike Gonzalez who had been in American History and other classes with him, he kept looking out of the corner of his eye at different people and noticed Mike was being distracted in the same way. "God, there's a lot of people here I can't remember," Mike said chagrined. "Who's that over there? Is that Jenny Saunders?" Dave wasn't sure who it was, either. They both agreed that it was hard to recognize many of the others.
Dave then spotted Janet Stevens. She looked surprisingly attractive and youthful, about ten years younger. It was not that Janet had been ugly, she had just never looked this good before. It was not her looks, however, that made him eager to talk to her as much as memories that came back to him across the years. He remembered how she always beat him in grades in school. She sat in front of him in both fifth and sixth grades, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get better grades than her. In the early grades he hadn't really cared that much about grades, but he sometimes got it in his mind to beat Janet in a test and it was mainly because she seemed so arrogant. She was often bossy and most of the other kids would pick up on this and taunt her for it. Dave would try to get back at her by doing better in a test because she seemed to take so much pride in being at the top off the class. Sometimes he would get a better grade than her but that was rare. He wondered what her reaction would be when she found out what he was doing now.
As soon as he had the chance in the conversation, he found an excuse to walk to where Janet was talking with some of her former girlfriends. When he had the chance, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Hi, Janet."
"Dave, Dave Phillips," she exclaimed sounding almost ecstatic. "You look great. My God. I haven't seen you in so long. I think it was right after graduation."
"That sounds about right. You're looking great yourself, like about 10 years younger."
"Oh, come on now. Don't exaggerate. Do you remember Donna Rains and . . "
He remembered some of the other women vaguely and got reacquainted with them. After 10 minutes of mixed conversation, he had the chance to talk to Janet individually. "So are you in town or living somewhere else?" she asked him.
"I've been out of El Seco since graduation."
"You must have gone away to college?"
"Yes, I did."
"Where did you go?"
"Princeton."
"So what are you doing now?"
"I'm in New York. I'm in neurosurgery."
"Oh, isn't that something. We're both in the medical field. I've been a nurse for 15 years now. I've enjoyed it immensely most of the time, but I'm starting to get a little tired. I may take a few years and stay at home. My husband said it was fine with him. We could manage fine on just his income. What area did you say you were in?" She seemed a little distracted with the noise around.
"Neurosurgery."
"What exactly do you do?"
"I'm a doctor."
"Oh, a doctor. You're one of those. You all think you know so much, but I'll tell you I've trained many a young doctor in my day. Doctors just don't seem to appreciate how important we nurses are."
"I'm afraid you're probably right."
"Aside from all that money you guys get, I sure wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much pressure, and you don't get the chance to really be personable with the patients. We nurses can do so much more good in that respect. Oh, Emily, Walt, it's great to see you," she turned to meet a couple that had gotten married after being high school sweethearts. A conversation got started with them and Dave sidled away before very long. He had not known the couple very well. He realized how she still felt superior even if she was below him in status.
He walked to the place where the kegs were located and after pouring himself a long-neck noticed Margaret Hawkins. He paused to get a good look at her as she stood talking to two men, who seemed entranced with her. That wasn't surprising. She looked as good as ever as she talked with her arms half-crossed, her left hand held at the side of her face, very composed. He wanted to talk to her but noticed how nervous he felt. He was determined to talk to her so he started walking across the room to where she was. How would she react to him? What were her thoughts now on what had happened back then? He hoped for a chance to talk to her privately, intimately.
"Hey, Dave, how you doing?" a friendly man engaged him in conversation. "Good to see you." The face was definitely familiar, but he couldn't get the name to come back to him. He kept trying to sneak a peek at the man's nametag but couldn't get a good look and didn't want him to notice his straining to see the name. After a couple of minutes, he remembered it was Leo Aceves. They talked for 15 minutes but it started to make Dave uneasy. He worried that Margaret might leave early. He wanted to talk much more to Leo. They had become good friends in chemistry class, but he hoped they could continue the conversation at a later time. Luckily someone else came up and Dave was soon able to excuse himself. Margaret was now surprisingly standing alone.
"Hi, Margaret. How've you been all these years? Remember me?"
"Uh," she hesitated a little. "I think so."
"I heard you had moved out to the West Coast."
"Yes, I've been there all this time. It's great. I love it."
"What are you doing now?"
"I'm afraid I have to confess, vain me. All these years I've been trying to be a star but haven't done much. I have managed to get some bit parts in some television shows recently."
"That's great. Most people don't even get that far no matter how hard they try."
"Yes, I've been thinking lately I ought to be pretty proud of myself, and on top of that, I've raised two nice kids." She stared ahead wistfully as if realizing that a woman approaching 40 couldn't go much further.
"Well, if you haven't made it big yet, it's not because of lack of good looks. It's a rough world out there in Hollywood. I think that's pretty well known by now."
"I hope so. I hope everybody doesn't think I haven't been working at it or that I have no talent because if there is anything I've found out for sure, it's that I am a good actress."
"I remember your being in Senior Play, and everybody thinking you had done real well. What was the play? The Crucible, wasn't it?"
"Yeah."
"I also remember you were just about the prettiest girl in school. All the guys always used to talk about you, including me. Do you remember me asking you to go to the Junior Prom?" David was surprised to find himself getting into the subject he had thought about for so many years. He didn't feel as nervous as he had at first.
"Uh, well, I, huh, think so." She now had a very confused look.
"I remember calling you on either a Saturday or Sunday afternoon. Of course, you seemed surprised since you didn't know me very well. I think we only knew each other because of Government class."
"Is that right?"
"I don't know why I thought you might possibly be interested in going with me to the prom. There were so many other guys you knew. What did you think when I called you? You sounded surprised."
"Well, I guess I . . ."
"I know, you probably already had a date."
"To tell you the truth, I've got a terrible memory and I . . ." At that moment an old girlfriend of Margaret's came up and touched her. They both yelled in surprise and hugged. They apparently hadn't seen each other for many years. They went on to a long conversation. Dave was not included and eventually faded away.
As he walked away, he felt disappointment. He felt the conversation had been going in the right direction. She seemed attentive and very sincere, but it was disappointing that they had not been able to go any further. He soon ran into a guy he had known since junior high and they started reminiscing.
As they were talking, Dave noticed Ricky Inman standing across the room. If there was anyone he was more curious about than even Margaret Hawkins, it was Ricky Inman. He hadn't changed that much except for a decided expansion of the breadbasket. Actually Dave could see, from the beer Ricky was holding in his hand, that it would more properly be called a "beerbasket." His face was still very recognizable.
He had first known Ricky Inman in the fifth grade and suffered perhaps the most traumatic experience in his life because of him. It had left a deep-felt impression that still remained in his consciousness. He hardly knew Ricky at the time. He was in another class and didn't live in his neighborhood. One day while in the schoolyard during lunch, Ricky came up and said some boys told him that Dave was the one who had taken the air out of his bicycle tires. Dave immediately protested that he hadn't done such a thing, but Ricky wouldn't listen and instead threw him on the ground and started slugging him hard. He was mad. He was also 20 pounds heavier than Dave. He yelled, trying to tell Ricky that he didn't even know what his bike looked like but Ricky went on to push Dave's face into the ground as he lay on top of him. The ground had been covered with gravel that now cut sharply into his face. The bell rang and Ricky finally got off.
In the classroom, Dave sat numbly. He could hear the teacher talking in what seemed a faint distance but he wasn't listening. His face was burning from the gravel cuts, and his body was aching. Worst of all was the mixture of humiliation and anger that seemed to override all his senses at the moment. It was an experience that he had never forgotten. For several weeks, his mind kept returning obsessively to the incident, replaying every painful detail. He thought about revenge and started studying how to become a better fighter, but the chance never came for a rematch. Years later in high school, Ricky was still a tough guy, running around with a hard crowd, but Dave had been able to overcome most of the bitterness. He eventually realized that it was this incident that probably started the fantasy of becoming a great success. He wondered how Ricky was doing now. Ricky had never distinguished himself in school in any way. He hadn't heard anything about him after graduation. Dave thought about he would go over to talk to Ricky. He wondered whether to bring up the time Ricky had beat him up in fifth grade.
Dave went to get another beer as he thought about the approach he would take. After talking to Jeff Solaroff briefly, he walked over to Ricky.
"Hi, Ricky. How you been? Remember me?" Ricky looked at him quizzically but was friendly. Dave noticed that his nametag said, "Richard Inman."
"Uh . . ."
"Dave Phillips."
"Oh, O.K."
"We met in fifth grade. We weren't in the same class, but I remember knowing you."
"Fifth grade? I don't know I remember anything that far back," he said with a chuckle.
"We used to play in the playground sometimes. Then in high school you used to hang around with Jimmy Perez who lived a couple of blocks from me."
"Oh, yea, good ole Jimmy. I see him every once in a while. He still hasn't changed much."
"Remember Jimmy used to give me a ride to school sometimes?"
Ricky wrinkled his brow, "I'm really sorry, but I just can't place you, and, hey, you're not the only one. There's already been a couple of other people who said they knew me but I couldn't remember them. Lucky I didn't have to admit it to them." He laughed. Dave was impressed with how gentle and sincere he seemed. "So what kind of work are you in?" he asked Dave.
"I'm a doctor."
"Sounds great. I've been doing pretty good as a truck driver. The only bad thing is I have to be on the road away from home so much, but my wife is very understanding. Do you know Terry?" he asked as he turned to her sitting down next to him. She smiled as she and Dave exchanged greetings. They had never met, but Dave was surprised that it was Terry Owens, one of the most beautiful girls in the class behind them. He had admired her in high school. He now remembered hearing that they had gotten married soon after high school. "The money's unbelievably good," he continued. "I made $60,000 last year, and I like getting out there on the road. Wouldn't trade anything in the world for it. No offense, but I wouldn't want to be a doctor. Too much hassle, and you have to be cooped up inside all the time. I've got to be out. Yeah, we've done real well." They talked a little longer then someone Richard knew came up to greet him, and Dave quietly walked away.
He felt frustrated and confused. He hadn't gotten the feeling that Richard was trying to put him down in any way. He seemed completely sincere and straightforward. He liked Richard now. It had been like getting acquainted with a complete stranger.
As Dave gathered a few finger sandwiches and salad items on his plate, a friendly woman started talking to him. She seemed very jovial. He didn't remember her at all. After they filled their plates, they stepped aside and kept talking.
"My name's Cindy, Cindy Waltermire." Dave strained to remember her but couldn't. He told her his name, and before he could say much else, she said, "If you can't remember me, don't worry. Hardly anybody else does and I don't remember you. As a matter of fact, I'm sure I never knew you. You see I moved to the Coronado area in the middle of senior year and hardly got to know anybody. I knew there wouldn't be much use in coming, but I decided to anyway. I figured there was really nothing to lose."
"Hey, I think it was a great idea. Even if you don't know that many people, you still have a lot in common with us." Dave actually felt relieved that they didn't know each other.
"I've met some great people and had a lot of fun. How long did you live in the area?"
"Oh, I've known some of the people here since third grade."
"Oh, my. Listen, don't let me hold you up. You must have a lot of people you have to talk to. You better go on and stop wasting your time with me."
"Hey, don't worry. You're fun to talk to. Besides I'm bored trying to talk to my old friends." Dave and Cindy talked for a very long time and got to know each other.
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