THE REUNION - Part 2

There's the old Diner — closed after all these years. I'll never forget how I learned one of life's hard lessons there one Saturday night.

It all started when I finally had the nerve to ask Vickie, (a very dark, exotic, mysterious, and mature fourteen year old) for the last dance at the YMCA Canteen.  Me, in my green and black checked sport coat, narrow tie, student Key Club tie bar, and green argyle socks. She, in a fuzzy tan Orlon dress stretched magnificently in all the right places.

We danced the last slow dance. (I did my famous two step "pump handle" march around the floor of the basement game room turned ballroom with the addition of a red flood light in one corner. Romantic to say the least and the least it was. )         

While we motored another lap with no obvious thought to the actual beat of the song I was wondering do girls really like to dance backwards all the time?

And then I asked the question; "Would you like to go to the Diner?  "Yes", she replied before I got the "er" in diner completely out.

I should have seen the warning signs. Much Too immediate and too eager - red flags I would learn to heed later as I advanced in the rituals of life. 

But this for once positive response threw me off.  I was very used to the reply "NO thanks". This was the first time for a "yes".

Peril ahead.. peril ahead!  But I didn't listen to my internal warning system.  It had been shut down.

My systems had been dulled by the scent of her Avon's Here's My Heart.  And the feel of her in my arms; the fuzziness of Orlon; the latches and straps across her back that must have been holding that wonderfully mature body at attention.  Her being was calling to me like sirens; dangling a much imagined (to date!) potential before my mind's quickly developing labido.  

I was stricken with one of the most deadly of the basic sins - LUST!

The song ended just in time and we climbed the stairs from the basement.  My palms began to sweat. Matter—of—fact, everything containing a pore was running full tilt.

I debonairly held her coat and we walked quickly to the Diner. (She had to be home by 11:45 PM. — since only a Sophomore. ) I had $3 bucks in my pocket.  A small fortune that was bound to cover a snack for both of us.

This was going to be great!

We entered the aluminum and artificial marble lunch car. I helped her with her coat again and presented the yellowed, coffee stained old, plastic covered menu for her perusal.

I tried to become the essential movie lover I had seen many times in living black and white. If I smoked I would have ignited two cigarettes at once and then handed her one. But I didn't smoke. 

Instead, with my deepest "man of the world" voice, I intoned, "Order whatever you desire my dear."

Without missing a beat, she said, "I'll take tonight's  blue plate special dinner."

Gads! screamed my mind as I scanned the menu to calculate the cost of the "Hearty Meatloaf — Fit for the King and Queen of the Road."  It was complete with mashed potatoes, one choice of vegetable, soup of the day, side salad and a small beverage.  

I prayed she wouldn't add a piece of pie.

The waitress finally arrived and I said, "the lady will have the blue plate special. . . She picked a small chocolate milk. The price. $2 .95

"And you sir?"

"I '11 just have a glass of water...guess I'm still full from dinner,"...my voice trailing off.

Vickie, consumed the entire dinner in four spoons full. (I have never since seen anyone eat meatloaf with a spoon.) Her mouth showing a faint moustache of chocolate milk. 

I talked high school small talk about the upcoming big game.  She responded with a comment about each of the senior players.  I wondered how well she "knew" them. 

And then our late supper was over.  I paid the check and left my last nickel as the tip!

(Seven minutes had elapsed on my "date of a lifetime.")

We walked the several blocks to her front door in silence, interrupted only by Vickie's hearty burps of satisfaction that echoed back from the empty street.

We reached her door.   I thought it's now or never as I moved closer for the much hoped for - and well earned - kiss goodnight.

She said, "Goodnight Kiss! I'm not kissing a cheapskate like you. . .1 saw the crummy tip you left that nice waitress." 

And she was gone, slamming the door in my face. 

I had missed the kiss, and much worse, I had missed dinner.  But I learned a great lesson - always watch the way a date eats.  Food, sex, clothes; they are all appetite driven. All signals.  All signs of the real and often hidden self.  (If she carves her steak like a surgeon on the first date, she'll be dissecting you like a frog for the rest of your life. If she eats like a truck driver, you better be able to do your own ironing.)

A horn sounded behind me.   I was back and stopped at a green light right at High and Broad. 

I drove on.  (To Be Continued)