Anything For Love

by Janelle Taylor

  “You’re such an optimist, Jen. I can hardly wait to see everybody. Here come the boys now. Let’s shake a leg and have fun.”

  As the five entered a round foyer via double doors, they saw a banner over a rock arch into the adjoining room. It read: Welcome ARC Class of ’64. The men collected their keepsake booklets and name badges from classmates working the registration table; the cards inside plastic holders with elastic cords to suspend around their necks prevented pins from picking women’s blouses. On the classmates’ cards were copies of their senior pictures, which evoked laughter and jokes and recollections of old days.

  Adam and Jen were guided away from the registration table- to a video camera set up on a tripod. Billy Bates was interviewing everyone who arrived for a souvenir tape which was for sale. He did the same with Becky and Scott, then wheedled Rachel into speaking for a minute about Daniel, herself, and their children.

  As more classmates arrived, hugs and kisses and gleeful words were exchanged. Questions were asked and answers were given about what they had been doing since the last reunion in 1979, one Rachel had attended with Daniel only a few months before he was killed in the plane crash. The foyer became crowded as more people entered or hung around to chat.

  “Let’s check inside, see who all’s here and get something to drink,” Adam coaxed and headed that way.

  “I don’t believe it; they’re finally remodeling the place,” Becky said. “Look, they have a built-in bar and they’re adding a kitchen. It’s past time; serving food was always difficult here without one.”

  Rachel glanced at the L-shaped bar in the back right corner and into the unfinished kitchen beyond a serving counter in the front right corner. Soft drinks, coolers with ice, cups, small plates, napkins, bottles of red and white wine, and a variety of hors d’oeuvres and snacks were available. Beside the bar and on the floor were several beer kegs that were being used frequently. Straight ahead were double doors with glass-paned tops which opened onto a stone patio that overlooked Lake Olmstead and was partly shaded by giant oak trees. People enjoyed the lovely view and fresh air as they chatted and drank and waved aside insects, mostly yellowjackets drawn by the scents of beer and wine and colas.

  Rachel glanced to her right at an arch which led to a tiled hallway where the restrooms were located. In the anteroom, she noticed purple-and-gold streamers and balloons that swayed in breezes created by enormous floor fans and fresh air blowing through tall opened windows. Huge posters with pictures from the Rainbow annual were placed here and there on sturdy easels, and groups gathered around them to reminisce.

  Rachel looked to her left through three stone arches where tables and chairs were positioned on both sides of the room near the windows to allow ample space for dancing. The wood floor shined from a recent waxing and buffing. The ceiling was high and open with its rafters in view, from which abundant decorations were suspended. Music would be provided by a live band playing from eight to one. Until that hour arrived and during the musicians’ breaks, a jukebox loaded with fifties and sixties tunes would fill in for them. At present, the Newbeats were belting out “Bread And Butter” followed by the Beach Boys with “I Get Around.” Near the crowded easels, busy bar, droning fans, and jukebox, the combination of noises was loud. Becky almost had to shout to be heard over the mixture, “I can hardly believe their improvements; this is wonderful. With air-conditioning being added and the gazebo opened soon, our next reunion will be super.”

  Everyone nodded agreement.

  Scott bunched them together and said, “Let’s get away from this chaos. Let’s sit near the stage so we can see and hear the action later.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Adam said. “Let’s hustle, I see an empty table.”

  After they took their seats to claim them for the evening, the women waited and chatted while the men fetched their first drinks.

  While Becky and Jen were engrossed in catch-up talk with an old friend, Rachel’s eyes drifted around the room as she looked for familiar faces. The record changed on the jukebox to the Beatles’ “A Hard Day’s Night.” Halfway down the other side, her gaze came to an abrupt halt. It can’t be! Move! her frantic mind ordered the couple who blocked her view for a moment. After they walked away and her line of vision was unobstructed, Rachel stared at the tall, muscular, handsome man. Her green gaze took in his black hair and even features. She knew his eyes were blue, an incredible shade of it. She even knew how he looked without clothes. Stars above, it is him! What are you doing in Augusta? At this reunion? With Carrie Simmons, rumored to be the 1964 class “bad girl”?

  Rachel yanked her gaze from the intimidating sight and tried to settle her nerves and slow her rapid heartbeat. She took the cup Scott handed to her and sipped wine as she pretended to listen to Adam as he related a conversation at the bar with an old friend. She wondered if Quentin Rawls had forgotten her; surely so, she reasoned, after the long string of women he had known and conquered since, if the tabloids could be trusted to report the truth on occasion. She wondered if she had been included in locker-room jokes, if she—“Rachel Tims” to him—would be mentioned one day in a tell-all book. What would her friends think about her if they read such a revealing story? What would she say to him tonight, as avoiding him in the same room seemed an impossible feat? What would she say to her friends if he mentioned that cruise to them? Should she get out of there before she was embarrassed or stay and pretend she didn’t know him? She looked at him again. Oh, no, he’s glancing this way! He sees me!

  It seemed to Rachel as if Quentin made deliberate eye contact with her. And why not, she fumed in dismay, since she was gaping at him in what must appear to be obvious disbelief and heart-pounding panic? For a crazy instant, she hoped she looked better to him tonight than she had the last time he had seen her, naked, in her cabin and his arms, the night before she had sneaked from the ship without even saying good-bye! She saw him grin, give his head a slight nod, and return his attention to Carrie.

  Rachel almost squirmed in her metal seat as she realized she had been recognized. Since Beatlemania had been sweeping the country and world in 1964, another one of the fab four’s old hits began to play: “She Loves You.” The words “Yeah, yeah, yeah” seemed to taunt her and to increase her tension. Heaven help me ignore and avoid him and don’t let me be twice tempted by him. If given the chance, I can’t weaken and surrender again!

  Three

  Two hours passed without an embarrassing incident, but Rachel could not relax while knowing Quentin was in the same room with her. Twice they had been only fifteen feet or less apart, but neither had made any attempt to acknowledge the other. By now, everyone present knew the famous sports hero was in the room, and most had made a point of meeting him. Scott and Adam talked to him, then reported how polite and interesting he was. She was relieved Quentin had been kept busy and away from her; yet, she was a little surprised and even disappointed he hadn’t approached her or even seemed to notice her a second time.

  She had spoken with many of Daniel’s old friends from out of town, with local friends, and danced with several of the men, including Scott and Adam twice each. While dancing with Adam to “Chapel of Love” by the Dixie Cups, they had discussed Wednesday’s meeting for the Community Outreach Program for the Handicapped and the devastating flood that had struck central and southwestern Georgia earlier that week. Just this morning, she and others had taken donations of clothing, food, bottled water, and toiletries to a pickup point to be transported to the disaster area. After attending church on Sunday, she had worked for three days on her novel, writing by hand since terrible lightning storms also were attacking Augusta and she dared not turn on her computer.

  She had eaten unwanted snacks to get food into her stomach to prevent the wine from dazing her wits. On the sly, she watched Quentin dance with Carrie and with others. She knew what it was like to be held in those strong arms and pressed against that virile frame while having fun on a dance floor on a ship, in exotic nightc
lubs, and on romantic beaches. She knew how it felt to have his cheek touching her head, to have his warm breath against her ear when he spoke to her, and to have his long fingers curled around hers while his other hand drifted along her spine. She recalled how she tingled and warmed when he nuzzled her neck or brushed kisses over her face. She recalled how they laughed, talked for hours, strolled in Caribbean towns in seven ports-of-call, ran barefoot in the sand, swam and snorkeled in tranquil waters in secluded coves, rode horseback on a moonlit beach, gambled in the ship’s casino, sipped tropical drinks, shopped, and visited Granada before its turmoil. She remembered a bus ride through the Venezuelan jungle near Caracas to a glass-blowing factory where they had purchased keepsakes she still held precious. She hadn’t forgotten a single event or moment she had shared with him years ago. She knew what a skilled and generous lover he was, and how her inhibitions had been washed away in a flood of ecstasy with him. He had been wonderful on the cruise, but was he still that same man today? Had he changed while running in the limelight? Or had he duped her like a con man years ago?

  At one point, Rachel escaped to the ladies’ room to keep from going outside with her friends for fresh air and quiet talk because Quentin and Carrie were there, and he was the center of attention.

  As she prepared to leave the stall, Rachel heard Janet, Dianne, and another woman enter the oblong restroom. Only one had to use the commode, and she chose the first stall far from Rachel.

  “Next time they’re taking our picture before we get sweaty and mussed! You know everybody studies it like crazy afterward. Hellfire, my foundation is sliding off, my eyeshadow is smeared, and my hair is damp. I feel as if this sundress is clinging to every inch of my wet body. God, I need some quick repairs before this room gets crowded.”

  “You look perfect, Janet; you always do, so don’t worry.”

  “Thanks, Dianne, but I looked better on arrival. This lighting is atrocious, and the noise and heat out there are unbearable. We should move this event to the Civic Center or Sheraton or Sacred Heart Cultural Center. I would be willing to pay more to have a nicer site and conditions, at least some damn A/C. I mean, we aren’t kids anymore. Maybe some of those women will dress better in another place; such tacky outfits tonight. Maybe we should hold a class to teach those other creatures how to dress properly.”

  As she straightened hair mussed from dancing, Dianne scoffed, “Did you see what Carrie Simmons is wearing? Yuck! It looks as if it came from a bargain department. Can you believe she had the nerve to show up tonight? I wonder how she latched on to Quentin Rawls. Greg said he’s rich and famous, one of the greatest quarterbacks of all time. He’s a hunk, too.”

  Rachel stayed quiet and hoped they didn’t notice her presence in the last stall as they gossiped about Carrie Simmons and her celebrity date. She also had an itch to see if they mentioned her.

  Janet tossed a used lipstick into her purse and began to comb her red hair. “He told Jim he was old friends with Carrie’s brother, another football jock. I heard he’s practically a has-been; at least Donnie was smart enough to retire years ago when he got past his prime. Some of the boys said he’s lost his touch and will probably be kicked out before this season starts.”

  “If he knew Carrie was the class tramp, he wouldn’t have come with her and tarnished his image. Or maybe that’s why he did; maybe she’s still an easy lay.”

  “You know they’re shacked up together in a hotel,” Janet said. “Carrie couldn’t stop her carryings-on after that party incident. She probably still can’t.”

  The stranger—wife of a classmate—joined them and asked, “What happened with her years ago? Ollie said she was from a prominent family.”

  Rachel heard sheer delight in Janet’s tone as the redhead revealed, “She was, but she got drunk or stoned at a party and screwed countless boys. A chaperon caught her half naked and sprawled on the backseat of a car in the school parking lot, putting out for anybody who wanted it. The boys saw him coming and scattered, so none of them got caught. There’s no telling how many boys sneaked outside and took a piece of her. She was lucky she didn’t get pregnant because she wouldn’t have the vaguest idea who the bastard’s father was. Of course, she swore she hadn’t done anything wrong, that somebody must have slipped something in her drinks. Nobody would hang around with her after that; at least, not anyone who was anybody. She became really promiscuous and made things worse for herself by screwing half of the boys in the junior and senior classes. Her family moved after her graduation; they couldn’t stay here after such a scandal.”

  “I met her earlier and she seems nice,” the stranger remarked. “Maybe she’s changed. That happened thirty years ago.”

  “Considering how much therapy she’s probably had since then, she should have improved,” Janet said, “she certainly couldn’t sink any lower.”

  “Do you think she and Quentin Rawls are a twosome?”

  “They could be, Dianne; with his list of ex-wives and countless affairs, he sounds as horny as she is. Bob said his brother is even worse, into drugs and other bad habits; he’s been in jail and created plenty of bad publicity for Quentin, when Quentin wasn’t doing it for himself. You know what they say, trash attracts trash, and Carrie rotted long ago. Now let’s go get our picture taken; the photographer is setting up the camera. I want…”

  Janet’s voice trailed off when the door closed. As Rachel left the far-end stall, she decided the women hadn’t realized she was there, though her presence probably would not have stopped Janet or Dianne from running their mouths. She could imagine what they would say about her if they learned she knew Quentin, and how well. As always, Janet was eager and ready to pounce on anybody she considered inferior to her, which was most people; and sycophant Dianne followed suite. Rachel believed that their treatment of Carrie was cruel; after all, the girl had made a terrible mistake and paid dearly for it, and possibly had been drugged or intoxicated against her will. Perhaps Carrie had been so desperate for friends that she sought them in the wrong way. Rachel wondered if the boys who took advantage of Carrie at that party ever felt guilty and sorry. Back then, they probably boasted about their participation. Long ago, it was only a girl’s reputation that suffered from such tragic incidents. Today, Rachel fumed, what happened would be called “gang rape.”

  While she was washing her hands, dabbing away perspiration from the heat and humidity, touching up her makeup and brushing her hair, other women rushed into the ladies’ room to repair their faces. They chatted among themselves and with Rachel. It was clear they were all having fun at the event.

  As Rachel reentered the large oblong room, classmates were being positioned on portable bleachers to have a commemorative picture taken. Since her group’s table was pushed aside for a while, Rachel remained near the easels, out of the way. She watched everyone laugh and joke as they waited for the instructions to smile and yell Cheese. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Quentin conversing with husbands of classmates while their wives and Carrie were busy with other people. He glanced her way twice but she pretended her attention was focused on the reproductions of annual pictures on the posters. For a wild moment, she feared he would join her but also hoped he would. At least that would give her the chance to learn if he was going to mention the cruise. Surely he was still a gentleman and wouldn’t divulge their intimate secret in front of others, but it would be natural to say something about how and when and where they met.

  Maybe he doesn’t remember you, Rachel, and he’s just toying with you because you keep staring at him and he finds your interest amusing. Even with a date on his arm, some females were flirting openly with him. She decided that a man with Quentin’s looks and fame must be familiar with women’s attention. Most of the men seemed excited and pleased to meet him, but celebrities usually were treated that way to their faces. Of course, Janet and Dianne were snubbing both Carrie and Quentin, as if the couple was beneath them. She almost smiled as she thought about how lucky he was to be avoided b
y them.

  After the picture was taken, Carrie Simmons rejoined Quentin. Rachel noticed they didn’t act cozy or romantic, but more like friends. She headed for her group and reached it as their table and chairs were replaced.

  The head of the reunion committee took the stage and stood behind a podium. “Let’s quiet down for a minute, folks, and take care of business. We have some awards to present. First, I want to give the names of the reunion committee and thank them for a super job.”

  Rachel listened to the list, then helped applaud their work. She observed as printed awards were handed out to the person who had come the longest distance, to the person who had changed the least and the one who had changed the most, to the class sweethearts who had been married the longest, to the couple with the most children, and so forth.

  The speaker continued his portion of the program by reflecting at length on top events of 1964 and the years that followed. At first, the crowd seemed to enjoy the trip down memory lane, but as the speech dragged on, everyone grew restless.

  The man on the stage must have sensed it because he laughed and said, “I guess it’s time to shut up and party. Have a great time and we’ll see you again at the next reunion in 2004. Our theme will be ‘Forty In 04,’ so keep in touch with the committee and be here.”

  The audience clapped. Some whooped and yelled. Some hurried to the restrooms. Others swarmed the bar for drinks and snacks. A few called it an evening and departed after hugs, kisses, farewells, and handshakes. Old cliques gathered for more reminiscing and made plans to get together sooner than the next reunion. The band returned and began playing the Beach Boys’ “Help Me Rhonda.” Many couples rushed to the center of the room and began to skag or jitterbug.

  “Let’s tear up that dance floor, baby,” Adam jested to Jen.