Best Man

by Doug Raber

  I stood there not knowing what to do.

  “Come over here and kiss me. Then take off my clothes. Slowly. Slowly and gently.”

  I did as she instructed, and it was exhilarating.

  “Do you like how my breasts feel?”

  “Yes.”

  I was back to one-word answers.

  “Now touch me down there. Wait a minute. Let me lie on the bed first. You lie next to me.”

  I did as she asked.

  “Do you like how it feels?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oooh. That’s good. Move your hand a little. Let me show you. Oh, yes … that’s even better. Oh, God, yes.”

  I continued to touch her, and she kept murmuring these words. Her face contorted, and she put a fist to her mouth, biting on her knuckles. Then her entire body shuddered.

  “Oh, God! Stop. Oh, God, that was good. That was nice, Tim. You did it just right.”

  We lay there quietly for a minute, and then she had more instructions.

  “Time for the next lesson. Stand up and take off your clothes. Then get back here on the bed with me.”

  A half hour later, I was back in my room wondering what had happened. I would continue to wonder for more than a year.

  For the rest of the evening, Cynthia was again the center of attention of the older generation. It was during the cocktail hour that I realized how special she was. It wasn’t just me that she could captivate. It was men. All men. Any man.

  That was an important lesson for me. It’s only when you understand what the danger is that you can do something about it. But then again, sometimes you don’t want to.

  The next morning, when I went down to breakfast, she wasn’t in the dining room. I found out later that day that she and her parents had left early in the morning. There had been no goodbye.

  * * *

  15

  Dartmouth

  Without question, my arrival in Hanover that fall represented a sea change in my life. The transition wasn’t difficult for me, as I had been at boarding school the previous four years. It was the freedom. The absence of structure was liberating.

  Admittedly, I had classes three or four days each week, but that seemed like nothing after my years in prep school when I had classes every day except on weekends. My first term at Dartmouth, all my classes were on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays.

  Some of my classmates were overwhelmed by that freedom, and they considered the days when they had no classes as free time. Time when they could do anything they wanted, or nothing at all. Some of them made that second choice and many of them never finished their freshman year.

  This is not to say I was an ideal student, but it was a simple fact that I liked the college environment. I enjoyed learning, I continued to like reading, and I had no difficulty finding the time needed for studying.

  My social life was uneventful. There were girls on campus, and that seemed to be a source of controversy, despite the official policy of coeducation that had begun the year before. The college had been all male since its origins in the late 1700s, and many of my classmates attempted to continue a battle that had already been lost. The men on campus, for that is what we called ourselves, often rejected the women or found ways to belittle them. It was a problem for which there was no immediate cure and would require the tincture of time.

  Girls had never been a source of antipathy for me, and in fact, it was quite the opposite. I was raised by what in current times is often called a single mom, and my closest friend for many years had been a girl. She, and more recently, Cynthia, had surpassed any category that might be so mundane as mere friendship, although I was at a loss to think of a proper definition. In any case, I had no grievance with the women on campus, and I found them to be quite satisfactory as classmates.

  One of my favorite parts of freshman year was the discovery of the library as a place to read, to study, to disappear. Baker Library had an open-stacks policy, and I soon discovered that there were parts of the extensive collection that were of little interest to my fellow students. These became the latest in my lifelong succession of secret places. In contrast to some of the others, these were not places from which I could spy but locations where nobody could spy on me. They were places where I could essentially disappear for hours or even days on end, whenever the library was open.

  Freshman year provided some major challenges on another front, however. When I arrived at the first day of practice for crew, I discovered that my time as a top dog was limited. In prep school and among my freshman cohort, I was one of the bigger boys, but the upperclassmen in the varsity boats included not only long-time rowers but athletes such as the former football players for whom injuries had mandated a change in focus. They were bigger and stronger than I.

  Two other sports caught my attention as possibilities for subsequent years: cross-country running and sailing. I had taken up running as part of my conditioning program the previous year, and I knew I would excel. And the sailing team appeared to offer a perfect fit for the experience I had gained over the years at Martha’s Vineyard. Which of these activities might become my primary sport would be determined only by the course of time. Until then, I would stick with crew. After all, I was the best man on the squad.

  • • • • •

  I was invited to spend Thanksgiving with Uncle Christopher, so I did not return to Washington until the week before Christmas. It was just after finals, and I already found that I received top grades in my classes. I knew my mother would be proud.

  My mother’s thirst for information about my college experience was inexhaustible at first. We talked long past dinner and well into the evening before we both admitted to being tired. As a result, it was not until the next day that I was able to get out and walk over to Angela’s house.

  As on other occasions, her mother answered the door. She smiled, but she also looked surprised.

  “Hi, Mrs. Donatello. Is Angela home?”

  Her look of surprise changed into one that suggested confusion, but she was nothing if not polite to me.

  “Come in Timothy. It’s cold out here.”

  Inside, she directed me not to the living room but to the dining room, where she pulled a chair back from the table.

  “Sit down, Timothy.”

  She didn’t offer to take my winter jacket, and she frowned as she put a hand on my shoulder.

  “You don’t know, do you?

  I wasn’t sure how to answer at first, since I had no idea what she was talking about.”

  “She’s okay, isn’t she? Has something happened?”

  “She’s okay. She’s very well, in fact. But she’s married, Timothy. She and that boy she was dating last year in high school.”

  I’m sure she could see my bewilderment. I had no idea that Angela had been out with anyone else. I was confused. And hurt.

  “Bobby. Bobby Hamilton. I’m sure she told you about him. Until he went to work over at the shore last summer, the two of them went out every weekend their whole senior year. He graduated from Wilson High, here in the city. He was a football player, and now he’s working with his father’s construction company. They live in Rockville.”

  She had said far too much, and she began to realize it. I’m sure the expression on my face told her better than any words could have.

  “I’m sorry. I thought you knew.”

  She stood and walked to the front door. I followed. When she opened the door, she turned to me, and I saw the sadness in her eyes.

  “I’ll tell her you came by. Good-night, Timothy.”

  “Good-night, Mrs. Donatello.”

  • • • • •

  While I must admit that my own commitment to romantic allegiance had disappeared quite quickly at the end of the summer, the discovery of Angela’s marriage had come as a substantial shock. But that was nothing in comparison to the astonishing news I received by way of my mother when I arrived home at the beginning of the following summer. Angela and her husband had a
brand-new baby boy.

  I spent that summer by myself. I had my old summer job at the grocery once again, and dinners with my mother were a new experience as we learned to talk to each other at a new level. As two adults. Overall, I felt little disappointment at the turn of events.

  Certainly, there had been a physical attraction to Angela, a very strong one. But my experience with Cynthia, during that time provided compensation for losing Angela. Not that I didn’t think fondly of the previous summers when I would walk past Reservoir Field on a warm evening. And I confess that when the Rolling Stones released “Angie” at the start of my sophomore year, the song always snapped my mind back to my first love.

  * * *

  16

  Sophomore Year

  My second year of college began on a high note. My mother and I spent the last two weeks of the summer at Martha’s Vineyard, and Uncle Christopher took me aside on the first weekend.

  “Timothy, there are a couple of financial matters I’d like to straighten out with you.”

  I was taken aback, not sure if this comment might imply an impending disaster.

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  “The first thing is that we need to be sure you join a fraternity this year. And not just any fraternity.”

  Dartmouth policy was that fraternities were off limits to freshmen, so this wasn’t an issue he had considered previously.

  “Membership in a fraternity can create important connections for you, my boy. Fraternity brothers offer bonds of friendship and access to important opportunities for the rest of your life, so it is essential for you to join. And it can’t be just any fraternity. You must join the right one.”

  He gave me the names of several that would be acceptable, but he also made it clear which one he preferred. I was unaware at the time that I would be a legacy, making membership in Sigma Alpha Epsilon virtually guaranteed.

  “The costs are not insignificant, Timothy, but they are easily managed and should be considered an investment. On that basis, I shall be pleased to cover your expenses for membership.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Christopher. I’ll pay you back after I graduate.”

  He smiled at me and clasped my hand.

  “I’m sure you will. But not with money. All I ask is that you represent your family well. Do well in college and then embark on a career that fits your abilities. That is the return I seek on my investment.”

  He had a formal way of speaking, but this was one of the warmest conversations I could recall having with him.

  “And the other thing. About your finances. You are no longer a freshman, and you must begin your transition from follower to leader. You cannot remain dependent on others as you move forward. You will need an automobile.”

  “I’ve saved my money. From my summer job the past few years.”

  He asked how much had been saved, and he frowned at the number I gave him.

  “It’s not enough to buy a new car. Not the sort of car you should be driving.”

  He got up from his chair and walked across the room, pausing to look out at the sea. Then he nodded, almost as though he had reached an agreement with someone on the other side of the windowpane. He came back toward me and sat down again.

  “I believe I have the solution. There is a vehicle I’ve kept here on the Vineyard to drive around for pleasure. A small car, and it has lost much of its value in the last several years through normal depreciation. It’s in fine shape, but I use it infrequently. I will sell it to you for a good price.”

  By the end of the afternoon, I was the proud owner of an MGB roadster. It wasn’t an expensive car, even when purchased brand new, but it was an eyecatcher. Uncle Christopher had said it was a few years old, but an exact age was difficult to ascertain, since the model had been manufactured for the previous ten years with almost no change. It was in perfect condition, and I could not have been happier.

  A week later, I drove my new car onto the ferry, crossed Vineyard Sound to Cape Cod and set out for New Hampshire. When I reached Hanover, I was quite convinced that I had become a big man on campus.

  Classes soon began, and fraternity rush proceeded as expected, or at least as Uncle Christopher had expected. When I officially became an SAE pledge, I sent my uncle a note and his response showed great approval.

  The fraternity had a tradition of assigning an older member to each newcomer as a ‘big brother.’ My big brother was a junior by the name of David Thomas Treadway, and we appeared to be a perfect match. During the next two years, Dave helped to guide me through many unexpected challenges, and we became fast friends. People even commented on how similar we were. Same height, same color hair, and both handsome young men.

  “I swear,” said another member of the fraternity, “if you two didn’t insist that it wasn’t true, I’d be convinced you were related. You look enough alike that you could be real brothers.”

  • • • • •

  One Saturday afternoon in early spring, I was reading a book in a quiet corner of the fraternity house, when one of the members came over to me.

  “There’s someone at the front door to see you.”

  I wasn’t sure who would come looking for me.

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know, but she’s absolutely gorgeous.”

  As I turned the corner to enter the foyer, the first thing I saw was the reddish blond hair, and a shiver ran through my body. It was Cynthia.

  “Hi, Tim.”

  “Cynthia,” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”

  “You sound like you don’t approve.”

  “What? No! Of course, not. I just … I’m surprised, that’s all. Oh, God. Come in. I didn’t mean to be impolite.”

  As we sat on one of the sofas in the living room, I was aware that her presence had been duly noted.

  “I’m on a business trip. I was up in Montreal for a couple of days, and I decided to drive back through Hanover and say hello.”

  “Business trip? Where are you working?”

  “I thought you knew. I’m working at Uncle Christopher’s firm. I signed on right after I graduated from Radcliffe last summer, so that’s why you didn’t see me at Webster House.”

  I was surprised by the news and a bit nonplussed by her appearance out of the blue, but I was delighted to see her again.

  “Where are you staying?

  “At the Hanover Inn. Walk back with me. Are you free? We could go to dinner.”

  If I’d had other plans, I would have lied and gone with her anyway. But I had no obligations, so moments later we were on our way out the door. Dave walked in just as we were leaving.

  “Dave!”

  I turned to Cynthia. “This is my big brother.”

  There was momentary confusion.

  “Your brother? I thought …”

  I laughed.

  “Sorry. Fraternity lingo. This is Dave Treadway. Dave, this is Cynthia Havermeyer.”

  After a few polite words, we continued on our way, walking across the Green to the Inn. I was holding a package that Cynthia had asked me to carry, and she said she needed to stop in her room before we went out to dinner.

  “I want to go freshen up. Wait for me her in the lobby, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. I shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes or so.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait over there.”

  Ten minutes later, one of the hotel staff walked toward me.

  “Pardon me, sir. Are you Timothy?”

  The question surprised me.

  “Yes … that’s me.”

  “Excellent. Miss Havermeyer said you had a package for her. She asked if you could bring it to her.”

  “Of course.”

  I stood up.

  “Room 317, sir. The elevator is right over there.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  I knocked on the door, and she opened it a few inches. I was startled to see that she was half undressed. She reached out for my hand and pul
led me into the room. Then she kissed me.

  Soon we were on the bed, and we spent the next hour in a frenzy of passion. It was beyond anything I had previously experienced or even fantasized about.

  “Let’s go to dinner, Tim. I’m starved.”

  With that pivot, our afternoon of erotic pleasure came to an end. We dressed and went out to enjoy a pleasant dinner at a nearby restaurant.

  As we walked back to the Hanover Inn, we continued a friendly conversation, but there was nothing to suggest intimacy between us. We were side by side, but not close enough to touch. She could have been my sister if someone had been curious enough to question the relationship.

  When we reached to hotel entrance, she turned toward me.

  “I’ve got to get an early start tomorrow, so I’m going to get a good night’s sleep.”

  Before I could say anything, she turned back away from me. As she walked through the doorway, she smiled at me over her shoulder.

  “Great to see you again, Timothy. G’night.”

  “Good-night, Cynthia.”

  • • • • •

  The next day, Dave found me at the fraternity house.

  “Who was that girl, Tim? She’s beautiful. Where have you been keeping her? A secret girlfriend that you never told us about? I can see why. You wouldn’t want any competition. Everyone would try to steal her away from you.”

  “She’s my cousin.”

  “Really? So, she’s not a girlfriend? You’re not planning to marry her, then?”

  “No. She’s just a cousin. It goes back several generations, though, so maybe we’re not closely related. People have said that she’s a kissing cousin.”

  “So, it might be okay if I went out with her? Maybe you could give me her phone number. And tell her I’ll call her. Would you do that? God, I’d love to ask her up for a weekend. That would be okay?”

  I told him it would be fine.

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to move in on you. You’re my little brother, and I’d never do that. Never. It would be a betrayal. You know you can trust me, don’t you? I wouldn’t dream of even calling her unless you said it was okay.”

  “I’ll get you her number, Dave.”