Best Man

by Doug Raber

  Mount Vernon was right in our neighborhood, only a couple of blocks from our old parochial school. Angela never mentioned the tuition, but there was an assumption that her parents could afford some of it and there would be scholarship help if she needed it. She had always been a good student.

  I expected to learn all about her college experience on my next trip back to Washington. Almost certainly, for the Christmas holidays.

  • • • • •

  As the summer progressed, so did our physical explorations. One night, I put my hand under her shirt and touched her bra. Not long after that, I put my hand under her bra and felt her breast.

  “Oh God, Timmy.”

  I pulled my hand back.

  “Should I stop?”

  “No, it feels nice. I just … I was just surprised.”

  The next week, Angie began to wear a sweatshirt when we went out in the evening.

  “This way you can undo my bra, and even if someone came near us, I could still be decent.”

  A few days later, the sweatshirt was up to her neck, and I was kissing her there. It was wonderful.

  “I love how you make me feel, Timmy. It’s all so different now.”

  “Yeah, it is.”

  I don’t know if we knew it, but the next step was getting nearer. Just like the end of summer. One night my hand went down between her legs, and she pushed against me. After a few minutes, she moaned softly and pushed harder.

  She usually wore jeans when we were hanging out, but the next time we went out in the evening, she was wearing a skirt. And her sweatshirt. I thought I’d go crazy that night. Especially when I touched her between her legs. I could feel her shape beneath her underwear. And then she said it.

  “Touch me, Timmy. Inside my panties.”

  When I kissed her good-night after walking to her house, I saw that she was crying.

  “Angie. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never have done it if I thought it would make you upset.”

  “I’m not upset Timmy. And you didn’t hurt me. I loved it. What we did was wonderful. I’m only sad that we can’t be together all night long. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.”

  The story line repeated itself over the next few weeks, increasing in both physical and emotional intensity. When my departure at the end of summer was less than a week away, we both felt it fiercely. The sadness of my approaching departure increased, and the intensity or our passion grew with it.

  Angie was unusually quiet that evening as we walked through the field. As we approached our regular place, she pointed to the far corner of the field.

  “Let’s go over there, Timmy.”

  “Okay.”

  “Timmy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want tonight to be special.”

  “Okay, I guess. But I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I want to do it.”

  “You mean …?”

  “Yes. It may be our last chance this summer. Before you go away.”

  “I don’t know, Angie … I don’t …”

  “Don’t say anything. Just do like we always do.”

  She kissed me. Then we spread out the blanket and lay down. We made out for a while, just like we usually did.

  “Now, Timmy.”

  We fumbled a bit, but we managed. Afterward, we held each other tightly for a long time.

  When we walked home, we held hands tightly, and we were quiet. There were no words to express my feelings, and I think it was the same for Angie. Beneath the crepe myrtle tree, we kissed for a long time. I saw there were tears again.

  There was a long pause as we stood facing each other.

  “I love you Timmy.”

  “I’m going to miss you, Angie.”

  My summer in Washington came to an end.

  • • • • •

  We left the next day. My mother let me drive all the way to New York City, where we planned to stay overnight.

  “You’ve been acting strange all afternoon, Mother. What is it?”

  “A surprise, Timothy. A graduation present. From prep school. Or maybe a going-away present for college. We’ve got tickets for the Broadway show Grease.”

  Grease was a smash hit musical that had received all kinds of award nominations the prior year. I’d never been to a musical before, and I was amazed that my mother had even known how to get tickets. I was further surprised when she said we had reservations for a pre-theater dinner at a nice restaurant.

  We checked into our hotel rooms — she said I had become a young man who should not be staying in the same room as his mother — and dressed for our evening out. It was a side of her I had never seen before, but it was a wonderful experience for me. The dinner, the show, the hotel, … and, yes, spending a grown-up evening with my mother.

  We got an early start the next morning and reached Martha’s Vineyard by early afternoon. I must admit to feeling as proud as a peacock when I drove her shiny blue, one-year-old Ford Mustang up the driveway at Webster House. She’d never had a brand-new car before the previous year, but she had deflected my inquiries about it.

  “I have a job, Timothy. I always have. I’ve been working for the government for almost twenty years now. I can buy a car if I want.”

  So, there we were, ready to spend our holiday at the summer cottage. It hardly registered with all the excitement, but Uncle Christopher’s 450 SE was off to the side in the parking area. I left the large duffel bag I’d backed with my college things and took a smaller suitcase, along with my mother’s, into the house.

  An envelope on the front table awaited us, and the note inside provided our room assignments. My mother was on the second floor, just down the hall from Uncle Christopher’s room, and I was on the third floor.

  • • • • •

  The plan was to spend two weeks at the summer cottage. In some ways, I had expected nothing more than monotony, something almost like incarceration. I was surprised that instead it seemed more like freedom. For the several preceding years, it seemed that every waking moment, and many of my dreams, had been consumed by events and challenges that were beyond my control. School and schoolwork, applying and choosing a college, my summer job, … and Angela.

  Suddenly, I was free, about to embark on a completely new phase of my life. Two weeks that were totally unconstrained, when I could sleep, or read, or go sailing. I could not recall ever feeling so relaxed. No obligations whatsoever. Of course, there was the basic courtesy that I was expected to show up for meals, but that was hardly a challenge. I was always hungry. And as quickly as the meal was consumed, I was again a free man.

  • • • • •

  We had been at the summer cottage for almost a week, and I was becoming more relaxed every day. One beautiful sunny day, which I think was a Saturday, I went for a long walk by myself, trekking aimlessly along the isolated roads of the island, returning just before dinner.

  I almost fell over. I couldn’t breathe. She looked the same. Not the same, really, but I knew instantly. It was her. She was standing with some of the adults, drinking what looked like a gin and tonic, although it could just as well have been a glass of plain seltzer. It didn’t matter. I was afraid to go up to her, so I got myself a Coke and walked past her as casually as I could. She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t turn from her conversation, but I saw her glance in my direction. And she smiled.

  There were probably a dozen people altogether staying at the house that weekend, and most of them had been there all week. I had noticed that the bedroom she stayed in previously had remained empty since my arrival. Now I was certain that was no longer true.

  After dinner, people dispersed to several locations. Some remained in the dining room, some went to the living room, and I was among a small number who were on the sun porch. I was looking out to the west, and from our perch high on the hill above Menemsha Pond, the view was spectacular. I stood watching the setting sun drop into the sea on the horizon, and
I almost tipped my coffee over when she came up behind me.

  “Hey. It’s Timothy, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wanted desperately to be sophisticated, but I suddenly realized I was just a high school kid, even if I had graduated two months earlier. In contrast, I was aware that she had already finished three years of college. So mostly I didn’t say much of anything. Just, simple responses. One word if possible.

  “I’m Cynthia.”

  “I’m glad to meet you Cynthia.”

  “You’re staying all week?”

  “Yes.”

  “I am too. We’ll get a chance to talk. Maybe tomorrow. You’re going sailing tomorrow with us?”

  “Yeah.”

  Uncle Christopher took the large sailboat out the next afternoon. It was a great day, but I never got within ten feet of Cynthia the entire time. Others, the adults all wanted to know about her last year in school, and what she was majoring in, and all that sort of thing that grownups ask the kids who are away at college. They seemed particularly impressed, or at least fascinated, by the fact that she was entering her senior year at Radcliffe. I overheard some discussion about whether they were going to merge with Harvard, and the answer seemed to be that there had been a definitive “not yet.”

  I recall feeling left out, presumably because I had not yet begun my undergraduate years. Nobody asked me anything.

  Some of my disappointment may have showed, because when we were getting into the cars for the short drive back to the house, Uncle Christopher stopped me with a hand on my shoulder.

  “Did you enjoy yourself today, Timothy?”

  “I did. It was a great day. I’ll say it again before the end of the week, but thanks for inviting us, Uncle Christopher. It’s really nice here. It’s terrific.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Dinner is at seven tonight. We’ll have drinks at six. I hope you’ll join us.”

  I’d never been asked — or even allowed, it seemed — to join the grownups in the pre-dinner drinks.

  “That would be great. I’d be delighted.”

  “Good man. I’ll see you then.”

  He turned to rejoin the others of his own generation.

  When the car with my group of three reached the house, I saw Cynthia standing off to the side. She came toward me and fell in step as I started walking to the house.

  “We never even got to say hello today. But I wanted to talk to you. You’re off to Dartmouth in a couple of weeks, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You’ll like it there. Especially now that it’s gone coeducational. I’ve been up for Winter Carnival, and it was kind of a zoo when it was just guys. For someone like you, it should be a lot better.”

  “Like me?”

  “Yeah. A guy who likes girls as much as you do.”

  “I … uh …”

  I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what she meant.

  “Don’t be embarrassed, Timothy. Don’t you remember?”

  The statement only increased my humiliation.

  “Remember?”

  “It’s not like this is really the first time we’ve met, Tim. Last time, a couple of years back, you were still too young. I was in high school, and you still seemed like a kid. But I could tell even then that I was going to like you. I just knew I’d have to wait a while.”

  I was still too stunned to say anything.

  “Look, we’ve got a couple of hours before we have to meet everyone for drinks. Come up to my room in five minutes, okay? we can talk there, and nobody will bother us. I’ve got a few things to tell you about before you head off to school. The more prepared you are, the better off you’re going to be when you get to Dartmouth. You know which room is mine?”

  “Uh … I guess not.”

  “Left at the top of the stairs on the third floor. Last room on the right.” She paused. “Same as last time.”

  If I had not turned red earlier, I did so then. I felt as though my face was so hot it would light up a room. She knew!

  “Don’t be embarrassed, silly. Do you really think I didn’t know that last time? I put on a show for you. I bet you liked it, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, but I was still mortified.

  “I bet there were other times. Am I right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s cool. Living on the edge a little. I like that. But I want to give you some pointers before you go off to school. Five minutes?”

  “Okay.”

  I was thrilled and petrified at the same time. I always thought I had been so careful, but in fact, I’d been caught. On the other hand, she appeared to have no interest in betraying what had become a secret known only to the two of us. She seemed to savor the conspiracy, reveling in it as much as I did.

  I knocked lightly on the door, and she opened it to let me in. She had on a kind of a robe, something I had seen other girls wear over a bathing suit. Her hair was long, down to her shoulders in the style of the day, and the underlying reddish blond had been bleached almost colorless by the sun. Her face was tanned, and there were hints of freckles at the base of her neck. She handed me a glass of water.

  “Here. We’ve both been out in the sun.”

  “Thanks.”

  She climbed on to the bed and sat with her legs crossed. She was covered, but enough of her thighs were exposed to make me take notice. She patted the bed to indicate that I should sit down as well.

  “So, let’s get down to business, Tim. You’ve got to get ready for college. Are you still a virgin?”

  I almost choked on a mouthful of water, and it was a few seconds before I could answer. I’m sure I was red again.

  “No.”

  “No? well, that’s a good start. Just one time, a couple of times, or a lot more than that?”

  “I … I just …”

  “Okay, we’ll skip those details. One girl, or a bunch?”

  I forced myself to answer.

  “Just one. Back in D.C. We hung out together during the summers.”

  “Backseat of the car? That sort of thing?”

  “I guess. You know this is embarrassing, don’t you?”

  “And you don’t think I should be embarrassed knowing that you watched me when I was undressing? It was right here, you know. Right in this bed. Look over there. The louvers are still there. Maybe there’s someone behind them watching us right now.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “No, neither do I.”

  She jumped up suddenly. I’m going to run down the hall to the bathroom. Don’t go anywhere. And if anyone shows up, hide. In the closet, under the bed. Wherever. But don’t get caught here in my room. We’d both be in trouble.”

  She closed the door behind her, and I looked around the room. I walked over to the closet. It was small, and the door was solid with no air vents. Not a very comfortable place to hide. I looked under the bed. The frame was high, so there was more room. A better choice if it became necessary. It surprised me. Cynthia had brought it up, but these things were always on my mind. Where to hide, how to hide.

  The doorknob turned, and the door opened an inch or two. then it closed slightly. I heard her call out.

  “Tammy.” Then, a moment later, “Tammy, come here, I want to show you something.”

  By the time she finished the sentence, I was under the bed. I could see two pairs of feet walk into the room, and I recognized the second voice. A younger girl, probably several years younger than I. Her name was Tammy. Another friend of the family who was visiting that week. She was cute, but she had seemed very young to me. A lot younger than Angela, and certainly much younger than Cynthia.

  “What is it, Cynthia?”

  They were standing only inches from my face.

  “I want to show you what I’m wearing to dinner tonight. Over here.”

  I could see her walk toward the closet, and open it slightly. Just enough to remove a hanger, but not enough for Tammy to see inside. If I’d been hiding ther
e, I’d still be safe.

  “Ooh, that’s pretty. I hope I get to wear dresses like that when I’m your age.”

  “Even better, look what I’m going to wear under it.” I saw her robe shake and then fall to the floor.

  “Oh my God. Does your mom really let you wear things like that? You can just about see right through them. Both the bra and the panties.”

  “Oh, my mom doesn’t get to say anything about my clothes anymore. She knows I’m old enough to make my own decisions. And look at my shoes. Grab them for me. They’re under the bed.”

  Both sets of feet were still pointed away from me, and before they could move, I pushed the shoes a few inches so they would be visible to someone standing next to the bed. Tammy wouldn’t have to lean over and look under the bed. If she did, I was toast.

  I saw the hand come down and pick up the shoes. “Oh, they’re nice too, Cynthia. You’re going to look very pretty tonight. I’m jealous. And I don’t even get to join you for drinks. I’m too young, they said.”

  “It gets better, Tammy. Maybe next year. You don’t need to rush it. But speaking of rushing, I have some things to do, so you’d better get going. I’ll see you at dinner.”

  I saw the robe come off the floor as Cynthia was speaking, and I saw the feet walk toward the door. The door opened, and then it closed again. Only one set of feet.

  “You really should come out from under there, silly.”

  “Why did you do that? She almost saw me.”

  “Maybe. But it was fun, wasn’t it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You know it was. And there’s something else now. We’ve still got time.”

  “What?”

  “Getting you ready for college. Some of the things they won’t teach in your classes and you can’t learn on your own.”

  “I’m not sure what you …”

  “I want you to learn how to take care of a girl the right way. Carefully and slowly. And to know what to do to make her feel good. Most guys never learn that.”