Joe considered Rocky's proposition for a moment. If he went to a party and got bombed, there was a chance that he might not wake up in time for work the next day. On the other hand, he knew that he would enjoy a bash that night. He really hadn't been to a party since he'd arrived in Bartlett, and in fact, he hadn't been to one since Crank had been killed.
"All right," he surrendered at last. "I'll go for a little while."
"Way to go, Joey!" crowed Rocky victoriously. "This is gonna' be good! Come on, man!" Towing Joe along behind him, Rocky set off toward the party location.
After five minutes, they had reached their destination. The party was being held, as Rocky had said, in an apartment only three blocks away. The apartment was in a four-story brick building which sat between a house and another, nearly identical, apartment building. The place was pretty run-down, and some of its lower windows had been shattered. Rocky and Joe entered, ascended two flights of stairs, and found the party; they probably could have found it even if they hadn't known the exact room, since loud music blasted from behind only one of the doors in the hallway.
"This must be the place," hooted Rocky, bounding up to the door and thunking his redwood knuckles against it. "Get ready now, Joey. You're about to meet Barbara, the hottest damn babe in this whole damn city." Rocky leered broadly in anticipation and knocked again on the door.
The knob turned then and the door swept open, revealing the lovely individual whom Rocky had described. Standing there before them was a stunning young woman, a glowing, supple vision in a silky red blouse and tight bluejeans. Appreciatively, Joe gazed at her: she had a beautiful face, with glittering green eyes and full, crimson lips; she smiled, uncovering rows of perfect white teeth; her hair was dark brown and wavy, softly framing her eager, flushed features; and her body presented fine slopes which he adored, ample breasts and slender waist, a pair of legs in splendid trim. Joe kept looking for a moment, then realized that he was staring and looked away.
"Hey, guys!" she chirped happily. "Come on in! Glad you could make it!"
Rocky stepped through the doorway, craning his neck to look around as if he was searching for something. "Hey," he squinted, twisting his head to scan the premises. "Where's Barbara?"
Joe did a double-take, stared incredulously at his friend.
"Oh, she's in the kitchen," piped the woman, waving toward a door across the room. Immediately, Rocky made a beeline for the place which she had indicated, thrusting like a bus through the gaggle of people that filled the apartment.
"Thanks," he said over his shoulder as he vanished into the crowd.
"Sure thing," laughed the girl. "I guess he really wants to see Barbara, huh?"
"To tell you the truth, I thought you were Barbara," admitted Joe, still amazed by the case of mistaken identity. "I mean, Rocky talked her up so much, an' when I saw you at the door, well...I thought you fit the description."
"Well, thank you," giggled the girl. "I'm Shelly, one of Barb's friends. Who're you?"
"I'm Joe, one a' Rocky's friends. Nice ta' meet you."
"You too," smiled Shelly. "How about a drink?"
"That's the nicest thing anybody's said to me all day. Where's the booze?"
"Follow me," laughed Shelly. "I've got it all mapped out."
With Joe close behind, Shelly maneuvered through the partiers. The celebration seemed to be in full swing; the room was full of people and noise, blaring rock 'n' roll music mixed with chaotic beehive chatter. It reminded Joe of the old days with Crank, when the two best friends had toured parties like this every night. It wouldn't have surprised him to hear Crank's voice at that moment, to suddenly hear that boisterous bellow of his surging drunkenly out of the crowd.
Shelly led Joe through a door into the kitchen; it was the same door that Rocky had hurried through just a minute ago, but the big guy had already evacuated the room. "There's the liquor," said Shelly, pointing at a counter covered with bottles and glasses. "You want a beer, or what?"
"What're you havin'?" asked Joe, stepping closer to the glorious hoard of alcohol.
"Urn, I think I'll have a seven-and-seven. I don't care much for beer." Shelly moved to the counter beside him and chose a bottle from the selection there.
"That sounds good," Joe found himself saying, though he hated mixed drinks and would have much rather had a beer or straight glass of whiskey.
Shelly mixed seven-and-sevens for both of them and handed one to Joe. "That's good," she said after sipping her drink. "I feel better already."
"Yeah," grinned Joe. "Me, too."
"Come on, Joe," said Shelly then, pulling his arm and moving toward the door. "Let's go dance."
"Say what?" fumbled Joe, a little startled by her suggestion. "You wanna' dance?"
"Sure," smiled Shelly, pushing the door open with her shoulder. "Come on, Joe. Let's have some fun."
"Uh, okay." Joe looked around and saw that a few other couples were already moving around to the music. One guy was swinging a blonde all over the place, whipping her around in a wild, sweating frenzy; Joe figured that the guy must've already put away quite a bit of alcohol.
Shelly drew Joe toward an uncrowded corner of the room. With her drink in one hand and Joe's arm in the other, she slowly started swaying to the music, smiling encouragingly.
Joe looked around, hoping that no one was watching. It didn't seem that anyone else was paying attention to Shelly and him, so Joe decided to try to dance though he hadn't done it very often before. Clumsily, self-consciously, he shuffled his feet as Shelly continued swaying; she shook his arm a little, enticing him to join her.
Joe gulped down some more of his drink and began to gradually relax and move more easily. Slowly, he attuned himself to the rhythm of the music, copying the beat with looser movements of his feet and legs and shoulders. He bobbed back and forth, swung his arms from side to side. Shelly giggled gaily, her eyes sparkling.
"See, Joe?" she sang enthusiastically. "Nothin' to it!" Then, she hopped forward and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. "Let's boogie!" she shouted, shaking her body faster than before.
Joe flushed and warmed but kept dancing, his eyes trained on Shelly. Long-dormant feelings roared through his body, and he realized that he wanted another kiss, even more than that. He hadn't been with a woman, or even kissed one, for a hell of a long time.
"Y'know, this ain't bad," he smirked, dancing less awkwardly every minute.
"I love this song," said Shelly.
"Yeah," said Joe. "Me, too."
*****
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next morning, when Joe awoke, it took him a while to figure out exactly where he was. Slowly, he came around, drifting out of a deep slumber like a sailboat coasting from a lagoon. He rolled back and forth where he lay, nudging aside blankets and sheets and clutching at a pillow. Gradually, his mind floated into focus, filtering into clarity like a kaleidoscope. Dimly, he perceived that he was on a bed, not a blanket on the floor of Rocky's apartment. He was on a bed, and there were sheets and a pillow...and someone else.
Suddenly, a hand touched his back, making him flinch in surprise. It was a soft hand, the hand of a woman, and it was familiar...very familiar. " 'Morning, sport," whispered a voice. "Sleep well?"
Shelly! It was Shelly! "Oh, yeah," mumbled Joe in recognition, rolling over to see his companion. " 'Mornin', babe."
"'Mornin' babe yourself," Shelly grinned, tapping his chest.
Gazing at the woman, Joe was silent for a moment. She was sitting beside him on the bed with her back against the wooden headboard. Her face was just as lovely as it had looked when he'd first seen her, and her dark hair fell loosely about her shoulders. Joe smiled at her, and memories of the night before rushed pleasantly back to him.
He remembered it all vividly, felt himself warm at the fine recollections. After they'd spent some time at the party, and both had imbibed plenty of drinks, Shelly had asked him over to her place. She had invited him to her apartment, which was
several blocks from the site of the party, and naturally, Joe had agreed. One thing had led to another, and now there they were, together in bed. Joe recalled that it had been a very good night, that he'd spent some memorable hours on that bed.
In the midst of his languid reminiscence, however, Joe had a sudden, sobering thought. "What time is it?" he asked, quickly sitting up.
"It's, uh..." Shelly turned away and plucked an alarm clock from her nightstand. "It's ten-thirty. You gotta' go to work or something?"
Hopping out of bed, Joe started fishing on the floor for his clothes. "Yeah, I do," he reported, grabbing garments. "I just got up in time. I don't start my shift till noon." Stepping into his jeans, he zipped them up and started looking for his shirt. After a moment's search, he found it, half-hidden under the bed. "Wow," he said as he yanked the shirt over his head. "Some party last night, huh?"
"Yeah," agreed Shelly. "It sure was."
Hurriedly, Joe grabbed his socks and shoes and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "1 had a really good time," he declared, pulling the socks and battered sneakers onto his feet.
"Me, too," she coincided. "We oughtta' get together again sometime, y'know?"
"I think we could work somethin' out." Finished dressing, he leaned over and kissed the girl, cupping her chin in his hand. As their lips meshed together, he revelled in the contact, in the excitement and feeling she inspired. He almost couldn't believe that he was there with her; he had never been so lucky with a woman like Shelly, with such a beautiful and classy woman. Amazingly, they had just met the night before, and already, he felt strongly about her...and apparently, she felt the same way about him. It had all happened so fast, like a dream, like the kiss which he had to end all too soon.
"I've gotta' go now," he said at last, shifting away from her. "It's almost time for my shift. I'll be up shit creek if I'm late."
"Well, hurry up then," smiled Shelly. "I better get going, too. This is my day off, but I still have to run out to Donaldson's to pick something up."
"I figured you worked there," he observed. "You knew a whole lotta' people at Barb's last night. Whatta' you do, load trucks?"
"No, silly," giggled Shelly. "I'm a receptionist. I work for the main guy himself, Harry Donaldson. Harry's nice to me, and I get enough money to pay the bills."
"I work at Burger World," shrugged Joe. "It ain't a good job, and I don't get enough money, but it's work. You gotta' make do, I guess."
"Y'know," posted Shelly, frowning thoughtfully, "I think maybe I could get you in up at Donaldson's. I've got some connections, and I think the place is getting ready to do some hiring now. How 'bout if I look into it?"
"Sure, that'd be great." Joe glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and realized that he had to get going. "Hey, I've really gotta' take off. I'll give you a call, okay?"
"Yeah," grinned Shelly. "I'll be here."
" 'Bye," said Joe as he headed out the door, leaving the woman behind him.
*****
At ten minutes before noon, Joe arrived at Burger World. He went to the Employee Dressing Room, wrestled his uniform from one of the lockers there, and quickly slipped it on. When he finally punched his timecard in the slot under the clock, it was exactly noon.
Immediately, he was again swept up in his daily routine. Orders for hamburgers and various meals accumulated like tickertape at the counter, and he was soon hustling busily around the kitchen trying to fill them. The grill grew a skin of sizzling meat, the deep fryer popped and hissed with the music of tormented French fries and onion rings. All thoughts of Shelly were forcibly shoved to the back of his mind, all distracting memories were drowned in the syncopated, insistent rhythm of work.
After a little while, Mr. Stevens ambled into the kitchen, hands clasped behind his back. He sauntered into the room as he often did, touring the restaurant like a cop walking a beat to check on everyone.
"Hey, Joe," opened Mr. Stevens, strolling around to stand behind him. "How's it going back here?"
"Not too bad," said Joe, smiling politely at the boss as he flipped burgers. "I'm a little behind, but I'm gettin' caught up. Mike punches in at one, so he oughtta' be able to help me out." After flipping a few burgers, Joe moved to the fryer and filled one of the waiting baskets there with French fries. "We're pretty busy today," he commented, dropping the basket of fries into the thick, bubbling grease.
"Oh, yeah," agreed Mr. Stevens, adjusting one of the temperature knobs on the grill. "We're getting a really good rush this morning. I'm expecting an even bigger crowd for supper, so you might have to stay late." The manager idly surveyed the counter surface above the grill, then yanked a damp cloth from a nearby work-table and rubbed at some smudge that he had spotted.
Joe returned to stand before the grill. As Mr. Stevens watched, he lifted burgers with his spatula, placing them on buns which he'd already laid open. "Well, at least you'll be bringin' in some bucks today," he said distractedly, "what with all this business." After folding the buns over the burgers, Joe wrapped them in orange paper sheets, then pushed them over the counter where the cashiers would pick them up.
"Yeah," said Mr. Stevens aloofly. "We'll do okay." Apparently satisfied with Joe's performance, the manager turned and walked back across the kitchen.
Joe was glad when the man disappeared from the kitchen. Actually, he liked Stevens; he was nice to Joe and the rest of the crew, and seemed to make an effort to treat them fairly. Certainly, he was more likeable than the other manager, the inept and obnoxious Mr. Gurney. Like most supervisors, though, Stevens had a talent for making people nervous, particularly with his frequent reconnaissance tours through the workplace. He kept a close eye on his employees and had a knack for pointing out what they were doing wrong. Naturally, this made them all quite uncomfortable, even though Stevens rarely treated anyone in a hostile fashion. Usually, Joe felt better when the boss wasn't breathing down his neck.
At that moment, Mike walked into the kitchen. He already had his uniform on, and looked purposeful, as if he was ready to get to work. "Hi, Joe," he greeted, striding to the grill and grabbing a spatula. "What's up?"
"Not much, man. You punched in already? I could use some fuckin' help if you are."
"Hell, yes," answered Mike. "I decided to start a few minutes early when I saw how busy it was."
"You mean Stevens told you to start early, right?"
"You think I wouldn't help you out of the goodness of my heart?" Mike shook his head in feigned disbelief.
"Nope," said Joe with certainty.
"Well," conceded Mike with a roguish smirk, "maybe he mentioned it to me. Just in passing, y'know."
"I thought so," laughed Joe. "Well, since you're here, ya' might as well get your ass in gear. Get me two Matey Meals, one with chocolate shake, the other with Coke." Joe fell silent and again concentrated on the grill. The fries were done, the burgers needed flipping, and he had to get more buns. Order slips were still stacking up on the counter, and one of the cashiers was yelling back for a meal that was taking too long. Things were getting busier, and Joe had to immerse himself completely in procedure.
In the back of his mind, though, he still clung to images of Shelly. Joe felt good when he pictured her face, and he knew that he had to see her again very soon.
*****
That night, Joe finished work just as late as he had the night before, but this time he made his way home instead of going to a party. He clambered up the stairs of Rocky's building, let himself into the apartment with his key, and headed immediately to the fridge to get a beer. He heard Rocky in the shower and decided that it would be a good time to call Shelly.
As he slugged down some beer, he fished through the pockets of his jeans for Shelly's phone number. It was scribbled on a slip of paper which he'd torn from an envelope; she'd dictated the number to him at the party, and he'd secreted it hastily in his pocket.
Joe found the precious scrap of paper in the left rear pocket of his jeans and uncrinkled it to read
the number. Swallowing more beer, he dialed the phone, the receiver tucked between his ear and his shoulder. He heard the phone ringing, then a click; his pulse quickened noticeably when he heard Shelly's voice.
"Hello," she said pleasantly. "This is Shelly."
"Hey babe," said Joe. "Guess who this is."
Shelly laughed once, sounded uncertain. "Uh, I really don't know. Who is it?"
"Come on," chuckled Joe. "Take a guess. You know who I am. Think, babe."
After a short pause, she laughed loudly. "Oh, it's Joey! I'm sorry! I should've known it was you!"
"Yeah, you should've," he snickered, "but I won't hold it against you. So, what're you up to tonight?"
"Funny you should ask. I was just going to ask you the same question."
Joe grinned, thrilled to death that she still seemed receptive. "Well, I'm free all night. You wanna' go somewhere? Maybe have a few drinks or somethin'?"
"Yeah," chirped Shelly enthusiastically. "I'd like that. I know a really nice bar we can go to, right near here."
"When you want me to come by?" asked Joe expectantly.
"Give me a little time to get ready. How 'bout ten-thirty? It's ten now."
"Sounds good," approved Joe. "I'll be there."
"So will I," she said warmly. "See you later, alligator."
"Okay," said Joe. "I'll see ya' soon." The phone clicked as Shelly hung up, then Joe replaced the receiver in its cradle. Victoriously gulping some beer, he turned and intended to get ready to leave...only to see Rocky there watching him. The bulky guy was leaning against the wall, wrapped in a towel that hung from his waist down to his knees. Slyly leering and shaking his wet head, he cagily winked.
"Joey, Joey, Joey," he clucked. "So you finally got yourself a woman. I don't believe it."
Rising, Joe set his beer on the table. "Well, it's nothin' really. She was at that party last night, and..."
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