“She likes you,” said Sylvia.
I blushed. Had Doreen and I ever spoken? Did she even know who I was? Sylvia had me believing that Doreen might be just as shy as I was, that she’d been admiring me from afar.
“How do you know her?” I asked.
“Our parents are good friends. We get together for family meals. If you like, I’ll ask her if she wants to go to grad with you.”
At first, I wondered about the wisdom of having a go-between, but I liked the idea of being spared the anxiety of approaching Doreen, or going through her bodyguards on the street, or worse, going through her parents on the phone.
“Would you?” I said.
“Sure,” said Sylvia.
And together we walked to the junior-high side of the school just as the bell rang.
After school that day, I went a different way home—over to St. Mary’s Road and past Page’s Department Store and the Beehive Grocery—so that I wouldn’t have to see Doreen. Next morning, I went a few minutes early so that again I wouldn’t see her and look for signs.
That morning, Sylvia saw me on the way into our classroom and said, “It’s settled. She’d love to go with you.”
Just like that! I had a date. My first. With a beautiful girl! I wanted to know exactly what she’d said and how she looked when she said it, but I mentioned none of this, trying not to show excitement. It was my first attempt at guile.
Speaking quietly so that other kids couldn’t overhear, Sylvia said, “I told her you’d call her to confirm all the arrangements.”
In my giddy but fragile state, I was alarmed. Did she mean it wasn’t settled? I said, “Arrangements?”
“You know, what time you’re going to pick her up, how you’re going to pick her up, who else you’re going with, that type of thing.”
I hadn’t thought about any of those things. The logistics. All I’d thought about was going somewhere accompanied by Doreen, having the other kids see me with Doreen. And when the evening was over, kissing Doreen good night. I hadn’t given one second of thought to the logistics.
When I went home for lunch that day, and back to school and home again after four, there was no difference in Doreen’s demeanour. If she looked at me, I didn’t see it. Each time, she had two or three of her friends with her and once I thought I saw one of them look at me and snicker, but otherwise there was no change. I wondered if Sylvia actually had spoken to her. But, as the next couple of days passed, I supposed that Doreen’s aloofness was part of her mystique.
Meanwhile, I worked on the logistics. My older brother Allan said he would be happy to drive my date and me to the Chocolate Shop. We would take Bud and his date Vera with us. We’d pick up Doreen at 6:30 and swing by Vera’s, where Bud would be waiting. We’d arrive at the Chocolate Shop downtown by seven. At the end of the evening, Bud and I would split the cost of a taxi to take the girls home.
The night I phoned Doreen with this information, I made sure my mom and dad were both busy. She was sewing and he was at his basement workbench building a new platform for her to stand on when she put the wash on the clothesline. The telephone was mounted on the wall in the hall that went to the bedrooms. I closed the door to the living/dining room and dialled the number I’d memorized.
“Hello?”
“Hello,” I said, my heart racing. “Could I speak with Doreen, please?”
“This is Doreen.”
“Oh, hi. I wanted—oh, sorry, this is Bob Jenkins—well, Jenkins. I thought I’d better—I mean, thank you for saying you’d go to grad with me.”
“It’s okay.”
It’s okay? Not You’re welcome? “I thought I’d better—I should—call you to tell you what time I’ll pick you up and all that.”
“Sylvia said you would.”
I barged ahead, telling her all the arrangements. As I told her, I thought, Gosh, I’m going to have to get her a corsage.
She didn’t comment, so I said, “How does that sound?”
“Fine,” she said.
Fine? I thought. Just fine?
There was a silence. “Okay, then,” I said. “I’ll see you on Thursday, June 24, at 6:30.”
“Okay.”
“Well, I’ll see you lots of times before that, won’t I? On the way to school and on the way home.”
“I guess so.”
There was another silence.
“Good, then. Thanks again, Doreen. Good night.”
“’Night.”
I was disappointed that she hadn’t been more expressive, but I wasn’t disappointed for long. Now that I didn’t have to converse, I could enjoy the euphoria of having my first date all planned, and I was anticipating my first kiss. I was imagining the softness of her lips and the sweet taste of her lipstick. I couldn’t concentrate on my homework that night and I barely slept.
Next day, when our paths converged en route to school, I was with Jack, another buddy of mine, and she was with two of her girlfriends. She and I barely made eye contact. But, before the day was over, the word was out. Jenkins is taking Doreen Holden to grad. Guys kidded me about it. Girls whispered to each other behind their hands and pointed at me. It was the highlight of the schoolyard gossip for at least a day, and then it was old news, but I could sense an improvement in my status.
The day arrived all too swiftly. The graduation ceremony took place in the afternoon in the school gymnasium, and I sat through it with a smile on my face. My parents were both there, beaming. Afterward, my mother asked me which girl was the one I was stepping out with. I explained that Doreen wasn’t there because she wasn’t in Grade Nine.
“Aww, that’s a shame,” Mom said. “I wanted to meet her.”
At 6:15, Allan picked up the keys from my father’s dresser and he and I headed for the garage. Dad still drove the two-door ’38 Ford he’d had since before the War, and Allan was proficient at operating the standard gearshift. Each of us opened one of the two garage doors that swung out to the left and right. Despite the warm night, I felt comfortable in my very first sport jacket, worn with tie, white shirt, dress trousers and oxford shoes. Dad had shined my shoes to his First-World-War-cavalry standard. And Mom had bought the boxed corsage. This first date of mine had become a family project. I carried the corsage in front of me as if it were a newly baked chocolate cake.
“If you like,” Allan said, as he drove up the back lane, “I’ll come for you when the party’s over.” At twenty-one, he drove the car every chance he got.
“No, it’s okay,” I said. “Bud and I want to take a cab. Thanks, anyway.”
“Impressing the ladies.”
“Something like that.”
We were on Ellesmere in no time, approaching the Holden house too early.
“Want to drive around the block?” I said. “We’ve got ten minutes yet.”
“What if she sees us drive by?” said Allan as he slowed down. “Don’t worry. Girls like it when you’re early.”
We stopped in front of her house. Doreen’s house was newer than ours, a storey-and-a-half with no verandah but concrete steps leading up to the front door. I noticed that the back door wasn’t at the back but at the side, at ground level.
“Aren’t you going in?” Allan asked.
“I’m waiting another minute.”
“I thought maybe you wanted me to honk.”
“No!”
He chuckled. He was being good about this. Even though he’d been dating for a few years, he didn’t lord it over me.
“Okay,” I said, opening the door. “See you in a minute.”
“Take your time. She’ll want to put the corsage on before she leaves.”
“Right.”
I stepped out and closed the door quietly. I started up the sidewalk and headed for the side door.
“Jenkins!”
I stopped and looked back. Allan was outside the car.
“The front door,” he said.
Now I was embarrassed, hoping no-one had seen me or heard him. I
always went to the back door when I visited a friend, but this was different. I should’ve known that. I waved to Allan and went to the front door, nearly tripping on the top step.
There was a doorbell. We didn’t have a doorbell at our house. My dad had talked about having one installed, but it seemed silly when everyone used the back door and you could hear anyone coming through the gate, and a knock on the storm door in winter or the screen door in summer resounded through the house. A doorbell seemed impertinent; you could adjust a knock to the situation or to your personality, but all doorbell rings were alike: insistent, brash, startling. At the same time, a doorbell was modern, a sign of progress, so I thought I’d better use the Holdens’ to show that I too was modern and progressive.
I pressed the doorbell button. The inside door was open and I heard the ding dong inside. Through the window in the outside door I saw a woman appear. She opened the door and gave me a welcoming smile.
“Hello!” she said. “You must be Jenkins. Come in. I’m Doreen’s mom. She’ll be down in a minute.”
“Hi,” I said.
“Is that your brother in the car? Does he want to come in?”
“No, no, he’ll be all right.”
“It’s nice of him to drive you, isn’t it? You must be good friends, you and your brother.”
“Yes, we are,” I said, entering and closing the door behind me.
Mrs. Holden was much younger than my parents, maybe forty. She was about Doreen’s height, but chubby and not quite as pretty. She had brown hair that was lighter than Doreen’s and eyes that I thought of as merry.
“Do you want to come in and sit down?” she asked.
“I—thank you—I’ll wait here, if it’s all right.”
“I should get back to the dinner—Doreen’s dad and her brother are waiting at the table with their tongues hanging out. Oh, is that for Doreen?”
She gestured at the box I was carrying.
“Yes—”
“Why don’t I give it to her? She’ll want to put it on in front of a mirror.” Mrs. Holden took the box and opened it. “Oh! Isn’t it lovely!” She disappeared from the vestibule.
I heard her speaking with someone—Doreen’s dad—but I couldn’t tell what either of them said. I heard a boy—Doreen’s brother—laugh. I was a neophyte in these kinds of social matters, and I was sure that any comments or chuckles were derisive and focused on me. I thought at any moment the boy and his father would poke their heads around the corner, point at me and jeer. I’m sure Doreen’s parents saw this whole situation—this date—as cute. For all I knew, this was Doreen’s first date, or at least her first formal date. Maybe there was something wrong with the corsage. Maybe it was too skimpy, or too fussy for a thirteen-year-old girl’s first date.
As I stood there, quaking, I heard more muffled comments. I heard cutlery on china—the male Holdens were being fed. Minutes passed, but I reminded myself of what I’d heard about girls of good breeding: they must never appear to be too anxious to go out on a date—keep the boy waiting. Of course, it was taking extra time to put on the corsage. I imagined her mother helping her, the two of them standing in front of a mirror, admiring the effect.
Mrs. Holden reappeared. She stood there like a page announcing a princess, pointing with both hands to the doorway she’d just come through.
“Here she is!” she said, and she made a fanfare noise like one of those trumpets used in King Arthur’s time.
“Oh, Mother.” Doreen stepped through the doorway, sounding annoyed but looking unruffled. Indeed, she looked as serene and wonderful as a thirteen-year-old girl with a beautiful woman’s face could look. She was wearing a gold dress that seemed perfect for the white-carnation corsage. She was carrying a handbag and a raincoat.
When you are fourteen and your date’s mother is standing there, you don’t say, “You look beautiful!” I was dazzled by her, overwhelmed, and even if I’d known what to say, I couldn’t have spoken.
Mrs. Holden filled the silence. “Now, you two have a great time. Remember, Doreen, Jenkins is graduating from Grade Nine. This is an important event and a cause for celebration.”
“Mother, I know,” said Doreen.
It struck me later that Mrs. Holden saw in Doreen an indifference she didn’t expect in a child of hers and she was doing her best to get her daughter into the spirit of the occasion. I would observe over the years that mothers and daughters seldom agreed in their opinions of the daughters’ young men. But that evening, all I thought about were Doreen’s luscious-looking red lips and how much time we had to fill before I could get at them. Mrs. Holden was, none too subtly, reminding Doreen that she had some responsibility in making this a great time, and surely it included a lingering good-night kiss.
“Good night, Mrs. Holden, we won’t be late,” I said, as Doreen preceded me out the door.
“Good night, Jenkins. Do have a wonderful time. Good night, dear.”
“’Night,” Doreen said, without turning her head.
She walked rather stiffly down the steps. I thought she was worried about falling—perhaps she wasn’t used to high heels, though hers weren’t very high. Maybe I should’ve taken her arm, but I wasn’t sure how. As she reached the sidewalk, I started to hurry past her to open the car door, but I saw that Allan was holding it open as if he were a chauffeur, and he had the front passenger seat tipped forward, expecting Doreen and me to ride in the back.
“Doreen, this is my brother Allan,” I said, proud of myself for remembering to introduce him to her and not the other way around.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi, Doreen. Wow, you look terrific.”
“Thank you.”
She sounded pleased. Why hadn’t I said something like that? Well, I was glad Allan had said it. He was like an extension of me, wasn’t he? He was family.
“Here, let me hold those,” I said.
“Thanks,” she said, giving me her coat and her handbag.
She ducked her head and stepped into the back seat, taking care not to let the corsage or her hair touch the car. I got in beside her and sat back, still holding her coat and handbag.
“I’ll take them now,” she said.
I laughed nervously and gave them to her. As Allan drove, Doreen, sitting behind him, leaned forward as if she might be checking the speedometer or was about to whisper in his ear. There were no seat belts in those days. I tried to think of something to say, but the sight of her, the smell of her perfume, the very presence of her, daunted me. The silence lengthened. It was Allan who eventually spoke.
“How was school this past year, Doreen?”
“Oh, fine, thanks.”
“Who was your home-room teacher?”
“Mr. Feeney.”
“Big Al! How is he?”
“All right, I guess.”
“People used to say he favoured the girls, but I liked him. Had a pretty good sense of humour. Does he still sit on kids’ desks?”
“Yes.”
“He sat right on my notebook once. Smudged the ink. Let’s see—forty-five. Is this it?”
Allan stopped the car in front of Vera’s and, as I was saying, “Yup, this is it,” as jauntily as I could, Vera and Bud burst out of the little white frame bungalow. They ran toward us holding hands. Vera’s mother stood in the front doorway, waving.
I stepped out of the car.
“Bud asked me to go steady!” Vera announced.
“Just tonight,” said Bud. “Just two minutes ago.”
“And of course I said yes. Isn’t that exciting, Jenkins?”
“Congratulations,” I said, not sure if that was the right word.
Their new status made it mandatory that Bud and Vera sit together, so I let them get into the back beside Doreen.
“Hi, I’m Vera. You must be Doreen. I’m sure I’ve seen you at school.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Doreen, not sounding pleased at all.
“And I’m Bud. Oh, Vera, that’s Allan
, Jenkins’s brother.”
“Your driver for the first half-hour,” said Allan.
“Did you hear our news?” said Vera.
“Yes,” said Allan. “That’s terrific.”
I got into the front beside Allan, and we were on our way downtown.
“Took me completely by surprise,” said Vera, “and I don’t know who was more excited, me or my mom. I don’t know if you saw her there at the door, big grin on her face. She just about squeezed the stuffing out of old Kolotylo here. ’Course, he’s not complaining—if you saw my mom, you know why …”
Vera jabbered on and on and Bud threw in a few snickers. I glanced at Doreen, who was sitting back now that Vera was beside her. Vera was leaning forward and punctuating everything she said with her hands, hitting Bud on the knee every time she mentioned him. Doreen had a grin on her face as if she found Vera entertaining. I resented Vera’s monologue at first, but, as we approached the Norwood Bridge and she showed no sign of winding down—she was telling us about a girl named Jackie who’d wrecked her parents’ living room by letting kids dance in it—I thought at least Vera was filling the void.
As we arrived at the Chocolate Shop on Portage Avenue, Vera was still talking, and she was still talking as I stepped out onto the curb and tipped the seat back. Bud jumped out and turned to help Vera, kissing her on the lips as she emerged; she managed a noise of appreciation. They headed for the restaurant, Bud’s arm around Vera, his hand encroaching on her hip. They made me feel how much of a couple Doreen and I weren’t. Yet I still had expectations as I offered Doreen a helping hand.
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