Settling Old Scores: BWWM Second Chance Romance

by Sposs, Mike

  "I saw him this morning panhandling downtown. He did remember me. He looked terrible, Kevin. His teeth were broken and rotting, he was filthy too," she said as she looked imploringly at Kevin. "I took him to McDonald’s and bought breakfast for him. I didn't want to just give him money. He asked about you too."

  "Pat, I haven't seen him in about 5 years. I know he can go get help at the Veterans Administration, if he is willing to go there. Everyone always associates you and I together from back then," Kevin said.

  Kevin didn't really want to get involved, but the thought of the guy with no fear being taken advantage of and discarded infuriated him. His absolute fearlessness was perhaps the only thing he had going for him in life. Only Uncle Sam would think such a rare commodity as extreme big balls was ubiquitous.

  The fuckers treated everything precious like it was a commodity, thought Kevin hotly. After the riots, Matt was no longer a fixture on the Avenue. There were no shops, no food, and some danger of getting harmed. There was no reason to hang around. The guy was a survivor though, going on ten years on the street. He was lucky to be alive. That lifestyle would have killed a lesser man like me, Kevin thought. He had no problem admitting that. It was just a fact. The guy slept outdoors even in the coldest weather. Kevin suspected he wanted nothing to do with anything closed in.

  "If you saw him Kevin, I know you would want to help him. I am not blind to your own pain about this either," she said as she took his hand and held it for a second.

  “Let me call around and check on resources, and then I will find Matt and see what I can do," Kevin said resignedly. It was true about wanting to help. Kevin had learned to be very careful when he picked causes, though. Once he got involved, he got involved all the way. But this was the kind of stuff that made him bitter, cynical, and enraged. The line from Casablanca came to Kevin's mind. "Welcome back to the fight, this time I know we shall win." Kevin knew for damn sure he wasn't the Victor Lazlo character in the exchange.

  Pat was pleased with Kevin's answer. They lingered and talked a bit longer. Clearly, neither of them wanted the meal to end. Finally, Kevin glanced at his watch and looked her steadily in the face. "Why don't you stay in the spare bedroom tonight? You know I am not going to harm you, at least, I hope you do. Call your mom from my place when we get there so she knows where you are. At the very least, let me drive you home."

  13. Spending the Night

  To Kevin's complete surprise, Pat agreed to stay overnight. They went to the apartment, and she called her mom. Kevin fished around in his dresser and got her an over sized T-shirt that she could wear to sleep in. She went to the spare bedroom and changed into it. Kevin stayed in the living room and poured his double bourbon for a nightcap. He put on a Delfonics album and called out to her. Do you want a nightcap, too?

  Again, to his utter surprise, she said yes and asked for a glass of white wine. Then, she came out in her Tee Shirt nightgown and sat down beside him on the couch. They didn't talk at first. They just listened to the music. Kevin slipped his arm around her. Pat snuggled into him in return.

  "You always have always been a sucker for that tenor and falsetto thing Wilbur and William Hart do, haven't you?" she asked.

  "I am a sucker for it. Nobody does this sound like the Hart brothers do. As far as I am concerned, they invented Philly Sound. The harmony of people with the same genetic voice prints and the natural tension of the tenor versus falsetto voices always gets me. I am also a sucker for Eddie Holman, and Russell Thomkins Jr. I love it when Thompkins comes on behind Airron Love and blows the doors completely off that one song they do. The lyrics on some of these songs reminds me painfully about you and me. Believe me Pat, I have tormented myself regularly about us," Kevin said quietly.

  Pat was touched and moved by his admission to her. "I am sorry I have been such a bitch to you in the past Kevin. Know that I do care a great deal for you, and I always have. Please don't lose sight of that. I always will care for you too," she said with that vulnerability of hers showing.

  "I feel the same way about you. I don't have any problem admitting to anyone that you helped me grow up. I'm sure I got more out of our relationship than you ever got from me. I won’t apologize for flat out admitting I want you either. You know you are not a troll in the looks or body department. You have your own feelings about all that, and I will respect your decisions. I like to think I could have helped you more though; if only you trusted me a little more. All I can say is that you never really opened up to me and that hurts," said Kevin.

  Pat looked at Kevin closely. Choosing her words carefully and fighting back tears, she said, "I was crushed when you stopped writing to me. But it was the third time this had happened. I always begged you to resume the relationship before. This last time, I decided not to. You admit to getting so much from the relationship; and I was the one that was always asking you to come back to it. Kevin, I am not saying we won't ever have a relationship beyond what we have now. I am saying in some ways I feel like I hardly know you. I am mad at you. I am not exactly sure why though. You graduated, got a job in your profession and moved on. I, on the other hand, just kept persisting in the same rut. I went to school, and went to school. I didn't address many of my personal issues, I admit that," she said.

  She continued on, "I feel like you deserted me when I needed you the most. It worked, I suppose. I should be thankful to you for that but instead I am angry. Maybe, what really angered me was that you had this sudden out of nowhere leap in maturity, and I didn't. I was always the one ahead of you, and all the sudden you left me behind literally, and figuratively. Your scorched earth attitude with me of all people really hurt, and really pissed me off."

  "Pat I am so sorry I hurt you. I just felt we were at an impasse, and I couldn't do it anymore. We were eleven years into a relationship that didn't seem to be going anywhere. I know we were just kids for much of it, but still," Kevin said.

  They sat there a little longer. They kissed tentatively. It was the first kiss they ever had with some heat to it. The event was not wasted on either of them.

  "I know you are right about us not really knowing each other. We need to go slow. We cleared the air between us a little; it’s a start," Kevin said.

  "It is a start, just be patient with me." Then she gave Kevin the big smile. "I know the Tee shirt and the kisses have gotten you hot and bothered. I feel it too, but we aren't ready for that yet," she said.

  "You would get me hot if you were wearing a sack dress," Kevin said. For the time being at least, she was calling the tune, and he was the accompaniment once again, Kevin thought.

  The next morning, Kevin got up, made coffee, took a shower, shaved, and got dressed before Pat even stirred. He was debating about going in the bedroom and waking her up with a cup of coffee when he heard her get up. She stumbled out of the bedroom with sleep still in her eyes. She seemed totally at ease being around him dressed only in the elongated T-shirt. Kevin poured her a cup of coffee. Then she retreated to the bathroom for a shower and to get dressed. Kevin didn't know what Pat felt, but he felt a little domestic bliss over what had transpired. She had looked plenty fetching to him in that thin cotton T-shirt that barely covered her bottom. Her nipples stood out so beautifully against the fabric of the thin shirt too.

  Finally, she came out of the bathroom fully dressed. They talked lightly about the upcoming day. Kevin had to get going. He again offered her a key. This time she accepted it. "Now, this doesn't mean that I am moving in with you. It means, from time to time, I will sleep here. I will also store some pajamas and a change of clothes or two here. Just so you don't get the wrong idea, I am not going to be your conquest of the quarter, or your slut of the semester," she said with a frightening severity.

  "Jesus, Pat! Although having you is a great fantasy for me, I don’t have any expectation of getting lucky with you, or anything like that in the near future. I know we have to establish our relationship first," Kevin said.

  She seemed pleased with that an
swer. Was it the part about being friends again, or a being a great fantasy that pleased her the most, he wondered to himself. In any event, her tone softened just a little.

  "You always did get ragged off when I said no to you. Well, I am saying no right up front. We don't have that kind of relationship yet, we just don't. You can't have me, or bully me into sleeping with you until I am ready. By the way, if you quit on me this time, we are done. Are we clear on that Mr. Kelly? You are not going to blow my mind this time," she said. The reference to the Delfonics song was not wasted on Kevin.

  "We are clear on it. We do have some old, sore, and sensitive history we eventually do need to cover. I know that we have to go slow before we can have that conversation. I'm willing to be patient and wait until we've established a relationship that involves more than just being pen pals for years,” Kevin said.

  "I agree, and we will both know when we're ready, if ever, to have that discussion," she said as she stood there with her arms folded stubbornly over her chest.

  A pregnant silence hung in the air after that exchange. There was little to be gained from saying more, lots to be lost.

  14. Rachmaninoff

  Kevin was only one class away from completing his graduation requirements. In addition to taking that class, he took a couple of electives that he thought he would like. One of them was a course in South American culture. He enjoyed the shit out of it. The professor was a fascinating scholar that could really get Kevin thinking. Kevin had made trips to South America before; so, the class for him was especially thought provoking.

  One of the assigned readings was by Octavio Paz. His book was Labyrinth of Solitude. The author had been the Mexican ambassador to India, another country Kevin had been to. The class examined and contrasted the differences between the two Americas, with a healthy dose of India in it as well. He loved the class and had enlightening conversations with the professor too. Slowly, the professor was bringing clarity to Kevin about some of the things he had seen in his world travels.

  In his spare time, he did get over to the university library and get articles about the riots. He had read the major newspaper accounts of the event when he was a kid. Now, he was re-reading these accounts. On top of that, there were about half a dozen little local newspapers and journals in the archives that Kevin never heard of. Little community activist newspapers and newsletters. The local Jewish press had articles in it about the event. The black community had articles, and the local socialist paper too.

  The big newspaper seemed to want to put the blame on "outside agitators" from places like Chicago. Those articles had a kind of "On our plantation, our slaves would never do that" slant. Then, there was the obligatory story about how some people tried to save the burning store. Sort of a rendition of the stories you hear in the South on the Plantation tours you go on. Always a variation of how "The slaves tried to save the plantation. They loved their masters so much." It was naive bullshit that made Kevin sneer a little.

  In one ridiculous article, a reporter even interviewed Sam McCann about his loss. It quoted and depicted him as a victim of the rage in the neighborhood. They even cited him as a "role model" to kids in the neighborhood. The black papers were not fooled. They mostly decried the criminal element. The Jewish papers focused on the losses of the merchants.

  Kevin was left with the impression that the cops didn't work too hard on any crimes that were committed. Instead, they were focusing on a big PR campaign to not look like the racists they were. There was a push put on to hire "community service" officers; not cops any more. Those cops would of course include more people of color. It was all the standard stuff the rest of the country did at the time; no novel solutions there. No mention was made of the missing Sylvia either. Kevin instinctively knew that someone could have literally gotten away with murder during those nights of looting and burning.

  It was very depressing to read about the events, eleven years after the fact. All the rhetoric had translated into nothing. White flight had occurred. The police had integrated somewhat reluctantly. Some of the worst projects were torn down. Commerce in the old neighborhood, except the illegal kind had disappeared. At least in the South, they are out in the open with their discrimination. Here, they cloak it in a code that guarantees nothing will get better while giving the appearance of being open minded, Kevin thought.

  Since he was taking a class on the subject, Kevin tended to put some of what he saw in contrast to what he had seen in South America. For one thing, they were more Catholic than Protestant in their outlook. More inclusive than exclusive was perhaps a better way to put it. The only place Kevin knew of that had significant mixing in the states was down around New Orleans. There, they had the Creole culture. Interestingly, the Jesuits had a big influence there too. To this day, they have parishes, not counties. They looked at the mixing of the races differently. Everyone was mixed in places like Brazil. They were way ahead of the United States as far as integration was concerned. They looked at labor, and unions differently too. They revered education and learning more, and Capitalism less. Octavio Paz knew what he was talking about, Kevin thought.

  His musing and reading morphed into browsing some of the local socialist newspapers. They tended to see the riot as a class struggle. Fair enough, Kevin thought. Everyone has a viewpoint and a lens they look through. It caught his eye that one of the authors of one of the articles referenced a Clarence Washington some years before. Plenty of people named Washington he thought. But he did make a little note to himself to see if he could find out who Clarence Washington was.

  The other item on Kevin's list was seeing if he could help Matt T. He easily determined that he could get help for Matt at the local VA. He went looking for Matt one morning downtown where Pat had seen him. It took all of a couple of minutes to find him. This morning Matt was out of it. He must have drank most of the night. His head lolled, and he couldn't focus his eyes. He didn't seem to know Kevin when he tried to talk to him. He reeked of urine and vomit.

  All Kevin could do was hail the police over when he saw them go by in a squad car. They tried to talk to Matt but found him incapable of reasoning or speech. They loaded him up and took him to the tank to sober up. One cop was on a first name basis with Matt. Kevin thought he would wait a day or two and come looking for him again.

  As he came back to his apartment, Kevin heard music coming from inside. He stopped to listen, Pat was in there practicing. She was playing a violin version of Rachmaninoff's Vocalise, Op 34, No. 14. In Kevin's opinion, it was one of prettiest and most haunting pieces of music ever written. The Irish, like the Russians, seemed to go for that haunting sad brand of masochism the piece showcased. Kevin listened to her play it over and over several times, before he came out of his reverie and into the apartment. Pat gave him a big smile and kept practicing. Kevin watched her play the violin. She closed her eyes when she played, retreated to some inner place. Her hands were delicate. Her movements were quiet, precise and rhythmic. There was a sexiness to her that drew Kevin in.

  When she finished, she opened her eyes and saw him watching her. "What do you think?" she asked.

  "You do the music justice. I own a Itzhak Perlman version of this, a piano version, and a Anna Moffo operatic version. So I should know," he said.

  “Eric Carmen got himself in trouble over Rachmaninoff. I suppose your favorite Eric Carmen is Please Go All the Way." Pat said just to dig some more at Kevin.

  Pat then said with a smug look, "Speaking of going all the way, I saw your old girlfriend Brenda on the bus today. She just had her third child. She looks like a cow these days."

  "My dad used to tell me that if you want to know what the girl will look like as she ages you have to look at her mother. I did see her mother back then, so I ain't surprised. In her day, Brenda was more than I could handle. So, I am sure you are udderly right," Kevin said while smirking and making a cow milking gesture with his hands.

  "Your hands weren't big enough to handle her! So what do you thin
k I will look like as I age?” she said as she provocatively struck a sexy pose.

  "I haven't seen your mom in a long time, but I suspect you and her will both weather pretty well. She was always pretty hot. Jealousy doesn't become you by the way," Kevin said, digging back.

  "Jealousy, me? Bullshit, you are udderly wrong!" she said, making her version of milking back at Kevin with disgust.

  "Will you help me on Saturday to move some boxes up here from my house? I have some of them packed, mostly music and books. It will be a perfect opportunity for you to check out your daughter/mom theory of looks. I don't know why, but mom has no problems with me sleeping here on occasion. She always made some kind of exception for you. Maybe she just knows how clueless you are about women," she said digging back at Kevin again.

  "I would be glad to do that. In some ways, it would be good for me to revisit your place. Today is Wednesday. Will you stay here Friday, or should I just come up there Saturday morning?" Kevin asked. It worked out that Kevin was to meet her up there Saturday morning.

  Then, Kevin told Pat he had been at the library reading the old clippings, and was rather fascinated by all the different viewpoints that were offered at the time. He told her about the Octavio Paz book too. She wanted to read it. He made his copy available to her.

  Kevin continued on, "I would love to be able to read this one in Spanish. English largely lacks the subjunctive mood compared to Spanish. In music would this parallel counterpoint? It's not about what you hear so much as what you feel. The other thing is that they are inclusive, not exclusive down there."

  Kevin droned on, "They never went the separate route at all. Consequently, separate but equal never happened either. In America, we separated the Indians out and excluded them. We did the same with the slaves. The Jesuits, converted the native population, and intermarried with the natives, though they still enslaved them. It's no wonder I'm cynical about religion. They did take diversity way farther, way faster than we did, though. Even now, the Norwegians, Swedes, and Germans up here would rather pay minorities off with generous AFDC benefits, rather than hire them. They won't hire the men, especially to do shit though." Then, he laughingly told her the "On our plantation story".