A Fine Kettle of Fish

by Lou Bradshaw

  Fortunately, we were pulling into the parking lot about that time because I could feel myself starting to get red-faced. I just wasn’t used to people telling me what a great guy I was.

  We went on into the ballroom and found a table reserved in the name of James Millsap, and looked around for James and Cynthia. It didn’t look like they had been there yet; the table hadn’t been used at all. We checked the dance floor and scouted around, but didn’t see anyone who even looked like them. We just figured they had gotten a late start or were here somewhere, and we just hadn’t seen them. The band was playing and there were a number of people already dancing and mingling about, so it was possible to miss them, but not likely.

  After a little bit, I excused myself and went to the registration desk to pick up my key to the luxury suite and get the bottle of pink Champagne out of the trunk of the car. This was the good stuff imported from someplace in California. It came with 2 glasses which I thought was the least they could do, after all, it cost me nearly 6 bucks plus tax. I took that champagne up to the suite and got it in some ice, and then I went back down to the ballroom.

  There was still no sign of our respective partners, so we waited. The band wasn’t too bad, so we danced a couple of dances and waited. A few other Doubling couples came in, stopped by the table, and drifted on. I was beginning to wonder if they had gone to the wrong hotel, but it dawned on me that James had reserved the table so that wasn’t likely. I mentioned that to Mary Ellen and she told me that Cynthia had taken care of making the reservation. Now that struck me as peculiar. Why would she reserve a table in James’ name and not mine or hers – very peculiar indeed.

  After about 45 minutes, we decided to kill some time in the lobby and watch for them. Neither of us was saying what we were both thinking, that they had had some kind of trouble or an accident. I don’t mind telling you that I was beginning to worry, and I’m sure Mary Ellen was too. To take our minds off of it, we went into the gift shop and poked around a bit looking at knick-knacks and such. They had a bunch of Missouri souvenirs, which looked just the same as Arkansas, or Oklahoma souvenirs.

  It wasn’t more than a few minutes before we saw them come through the front door, which was at the other end of the lobby. I perked up and headed out of the shop, but Mary Ellen caught my sleeve and stopped me. “Let’s let them wait on us for a few minutes.” she said.

  James and Cynthia stopped at the counter outside the ballroom and got their tickets, Cynthia checked herself in the mirror and did a couple of hair pats, and they went in. We waited about 5 minutes and then we followed.

  When we walked into the ballroom, Mary Ellen whispered to me, “Follow my lead. Act like we just got here.” It didn’t make much sense, but what the hell I’m always up for a gag. So, in we went, and I made a show of looking around before spotting them. We went to the table all smiles at having found them; actually, I was pretty relieved that they were safe. Mary Ellen was smiling and beaming when she asked if they had been waiting long.

  “Oh about an hour.” replied James, “This band is pretty good, and we’ve been rockin and boppin.” From the look of them they had, because up close they were a bit rumpled. But how could that be?

  Sometimes I’m not the most colorful Crayola in the box. I have to work some of these things out a little slower than most. It’s not that I’m particularly stupid; it’s just that I am particularly naïve. If Mack hadn’t spoiled it for me, I’d still be setting out milk and cookies for Santy Clause. Anyway, there were things going on that I had no experience with, so I just naturally kept smiling and let things unfold for me.

  We sat down and gave the highlights of the prom, and then they started playing a slow dance and we all got up to dance. I started to wrap myself around Cynthia, but she wasn’t having any of it and pushed me off a bit saying, “Not so close, you’ll crush my flowers.” Hell I bought those flowers – I wanted to crush ‘em. So we danced with a little cool distance between us, and I was thinking about that luxury suite and the pink Champagne and the 42 plus dollars invested upstairs.

  I glanced around the floor and spotted Mary Ellen and James, and if things were cool with us, they were in the deep freeze with them. Several times she acted like she wanted to pull away, but he held her close. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I could hear her intent loud and clear. Her expression did not match the love song that the band was sharing with us. The riot act was being quietly read to James for one reason or another, and he wasn’t getting much of a chance to do any reading of his own.

  Of course, my concern was strictly selfish. All I could think of was, their fight was going to spoil my fun. I figured I may as well go up there right then and dump that Champagne in the toilet for all the good it was going to do me. Mercifully, the music ended and we left the floor. I guided Cynthia by her arm and James followed Mary Ellen from about 5 feet back. We all sat down at the table except for James. He just stood there and you could tell that he was steamed. Finally, he said, “Okay, if that’s how you’re going to be, then you can be that way without me. I’m leavin’, you stayin’ or you want to come with me, Sweets?”

  “Sweets?” I thought, “Who the hell is Sweets?” That was when I realized that Cynthia had gotten out of her chair. She stood there smiling at James. You’d have thought she had just won the Irish Sweepstakes or something. She smiled down at me, shrugged her shoulders, and followed James out of the ballroom. I’m sure she gave it just a little extra swish for my benefit as she went through the door. I guess that meant we were broke up.

  I looked through the empty door and kissed my 42 dollars plus tux and flowers officially goodbye.

  Chapter10

  About that time, I realized that I was standing there with a face covered with dumb look. I turned to Mary Ellen hoping that she wouldn’t be crying – she was. So, I just sat down next to her wanting to give as much support as I could and not having any idea how to do such a thing. Actually, I needed a little support myself. I found myself hoping to see Liz walk through that door. Now where that thought came from I’ll never know.

  We sat there until she was a little more under control, with just a few sniffs and sobs. I asked if she wanted to go home. She shook her head and said she didn’t know what she wanted, but she didn’t want to go home and that was for sure. “I just need to be alone for a little while.” she said.

  Sir Walter Raleigh would have been proud of me when I pulled that hotel key out of my pocket and placed it in her hand. She looked at me with what I’d call bewilderment and I told her, “ Someone may as well get some use out of it – I sure won’t.” She accepted the offer, and I told her that I’d call her in about half an hour to check on her. She thanked me and headed for the elevator and room # 411 – I headed for the empty table.

  I found myself thinking that all these years of being critical of Mary Ellen and her image that I had been seriously mistaken. She wasn’t nearly as shallow as I’d thought. She was just like everyone else, when she got hurt it hurt. I had a whole different perception of her now than I did a year ago or even the day before, I enjoyed her company, and she was easy to talk to and not too hard to look at. To say that she had matured quicker than I had was probably true, but I think mostly it was just a matter of different experiences and different circumstances. Anyway, I was revising my opinion of her.

  So, I sat there feeling sorry for myself, I was pissed, I felt inadequate, stupid, and generally miserable. I guessed that somewhere in the back of my mind I was a little bit relieved. Relieved because Cynthia and I had no future and I knew it. I had no idea what was planned for me, but she had her future all mapped out. She wanted a house with all the fixings and a husband – in that order. She had used the lure of sex and the promise of it ever since we had been together, and like any other red blooded, empty headed, hormone driven young bull, I was sniffin’ after the bait. She knew what she had and how to use it, and as long as she could stay in control, everything was going her way.

  I had v
isions of her coercing some knot headed husband into wallpapering the kitchen with the promise of, “Be a good boy and maybe I’ll make it worth your while.” Somehow, that didn’t sound like much of a bargain. As I sat there alone listening to the music and smoking, I knew that I would go home sexually frustrated again but better off by far.

  It had been half an hour and a little more, when I went to the reception desk where I picked up the house phone and asked for room # 411. When she answered, she sounded better and said, “Lee, I found a lovely bottle of pink Champagne up here. Why don’t you come on up and we’ll drink it. There’s no reason to let go to waste.”

  Well she didn’t have to ask me twice. At least I could get something back on my investment, so I headed for the nearest elevator.

  At room # 411 I knocked on the door and waited a short moment with visions of drinking Champagne from a tall-stemmed glass. I had no idea what it would taste like, but I knew it had to be most elegant. I checked my nails looking for traces of grease. It wouldn’t do to be elegant with dirty fingernails – they were cool.

  The door opened a crack, and Mary Ellen peeked around it, then it opened a little more and she stood back. She was wearing a white fluffy robe with Kentwood Arms Hotel written where a pocket would go. She reached out and grabbed a handful of ruffled shirtfront, then said, “Get in here, buster!” and jerked me in while at the same time she kicked the door shut.

  The next few seconds were spent trying to get out of that monkey suit and trying to remember which pocket was full of Trojans, which she told me not to worry about it because Doc Millsap had taken care of it. I accepted that because I couldn’t find them anyway. I discovered that two people couldn’t get cufflinks and studs out because at least one of those people was shaking bad enough to crack the plaster in the room below. I finally got out of that trap, but there was at least 1 stud that would never be found.

  When the lightening had quit flashing, the thunder had quit crashing, and the tornadoes had quit ripping that bed apart, we both lay there smoking and grinning. I finally got up and tackled that champagne cork, and we partook of the bubbly. I was absolutely delirious. I couldn’t imagine anything better than lying there drinking the good stuff next to a gorgeous and naked ’57 T-Bird. Those things never happened in real life – not to me they didn’t.

  Presently she put down her glass and said, “ That was for revenge; this will be for fun.” And it was! That time it was slower and even more exiting. She took charge and I was learning things that I couldn’t learn listening to those lying bastards I ran around with. It was great, and she was great.

  Later we had more champagne, more smoking, and more reveling in the moment. I said to her, “Moe, it just doesn’t get any better than this.”

  Her laugh had a little twinkle to it and she asked, “Where did that come from? You’ve called me Moe for forever.”

  I thought for a long moment because I had to take myself out of the present and the present was awfully damned pleasant. Then I got it all organized and told her, “It all started on our first day of kindergarten. You were a ball of fire buzzin’ around getting everybody lined up and takin charge. Well, Mack Taylor didn’t talk too well back then and he said to me, ‘Dat Mo-ellen Whikater sure is bossy, ain’t she?’ Well you’ve been Moe Ellen to me ever since.”

  She started to giggle and then to laugh, I didn’t know if it was that funny or if it was the Champagne, but she was enjoying the moment and that was worth more than $42.00 plus tux and flowers to me. Of course, I figured I’d already come out way ahead on that deal.

  When she got over her fit of the ha ha’s she said, “You have nick-names for almost everyone don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m quite the one for the sobriquets.”

  “Huh?”

  “Oh that’s kinda French for nick-names. I always figured that we didn’t have any say so in the names our folks chose for us, like Lee Roy, but we should be able to have our monikers toned down a bit, or built up a bit.”

  “Where,” she asked, “did you come up with Mickey, his real name is Robert. The two names just don’t seem to have a connection?” So, I told her about his dreams of being a Mickey Mantle, but having a closer likeness to Mickey Mouse. This produced another round of laughter at Mickey’s expense. He would’ve sure been pissed if he’d known we were laying there buck naked laughing at him.

  “How come that SOB James never got a nick-name?” she wondered.

  “Yeah,” I said, “Jim, Jimmy, Jimbo, or even Heaven forbid Jamie would have been better than straight James. I guess some people just aren’t liked enough to get a nick-name.”

  Before I knew what was happening, she was snuggling up to me again, and I wasn’t disliking it and she said, “One for revenge, one for fun, and one just because the other two were so good.”

  Some time later as we lay there totally exhausted I asked her if everyone in her family was trying to kill me. “What do you mean?” she purred kind of sleepy like.

  “First your uncle tried to shoot me, and now you’re trying to finish the job, although, I prefer your method, by far.”

  That took her a few seconds to register, she sat straight up in bed and squealed, “You were the gas bandit!” which started another round of hilarity. We both laughed until it hurt. I couldn’t remember ever having such a good time; this was one hell of a non-date.

  As I crawled out of bed and started looking for studs and cummerbunds and such, I had my butt exposed a number of times. Finally, she asked, “How’d you get that?”

  “What that?”

  “That that.” she said, pointing to my behind, ”That scar on your butt.”

  “Oh that that. It’s a long story, and I’ve got to leave you with some sense of mystery, otherwise, you’ll know too much about me, and I’ll have to leave town and change my name. If you really want to know, you’ll have to ask Liz McCord. She’s one of only 3 people who know about it, and I think I could get into some trouble if it got out.” I gave her a grin and said, “But you might have to tell her how you know about the scar on my butt.”

  “Hummmm?” she said as she started pulling on some kind of underwear that made my pulse kick in again.

  The ride home was pleasant and I felt good about life in general, not just because of the terrific sex but other stuff too. I felt like I had just made a new old friend, a very good friend. We may never become close and share a lot of each other’s time, but we shared a special night. For a brief period of time I’d had a ’57 T-Bird and that was special.

  At last, we were at her front door, and it was time to say good night. She got serious for a moment and said, “Lee, tonight was fantastic, and I know you’ll be a gentleman in what you say. You know that there isn’t any future for us as a couple. I’ll be leaving for school in August, and I want a whole new experience. The last thing I want is a boyfriend back home.”

  Then she gave me a shy little smile and said, “Besides I’d never know if it were me or the gas in Daddy’s tank you were after.”

  I laughed and told her that I pretty much felt the same way about long distance romances, and that her reputation was safe and not to give it another thought.

  She kissed me good night and said, “Who knows, we just might find a reason to see each other from time to time between now and August.”

  Just as Mary Ellen had said earlier that she had left her life as Miss Popularity behind, I also felt like I had closed a door on a part of my life. I just didn’t know what or by how much, but I was different.

  * * *

  BAM! BAM! BAM! I shot bolt upright in bed, not knowing where I was or even who I was. It was still more dark than light out side, and someone was trying to knock down our front door.

  BAM! BAM! “Open this door! Open up!” I didn’t recognize the BAM, but I sure recognized the voice. It was Harley Smith, Cynthia’s hard eyed hard assed daddy.

  “Oh crap,” I thought, “somebody had better turn off the fan ‘cause it’s sure en
ough gonna get hit.” My feet hit the floor, and I was buttoning my jeans as I took the stairs 2 at a time. I reached the front door only a step behind Brick, who had just opened the door and was trying to make out what that hard eyed bastard was shouting about. Brick went out on the porch but kept a hand on the screen door to keep me in.

  Chapter 11

  Old Harley Smith was huffin’ and puffin’ and wanted to know where Cynthia was. He shouted at me over Brick’s shoulder, “Where’s my daughter, you little punk?”

  Brick turned to me to get an answer, and being the smart-ass that I was I said, “Oh, you mean Sweets? I have no idea.”

  Old hard eye made a lunge for the door, and Brick stopped him with a big hard hand, open palmed, in the middle of Harley’s chest, and then shoved him back. He caught one of the support posts or else he would have wound up in the front yard. Brick looked him in the eye and said, “Harley, if anybody’s gonna’ touch this boy it’s gonna’ be me. Anyway, I don’t think you’re up to the task.”

  Then Brick turned to me and said, “That’s just not good enough, Lee Roy.” I knew then to cut the smart-ass stuff and tell it straight – which I did. Within seconds, Cynthia’s hard eyed pappy was off the porch and in his car headed for Doc Millsap’s place. I wondered if he would use the same manners with a doctor as he did with a mechanic.

  By that time, Mom and Nan were there, wanting all the details. I just folded my arms across my massive chest and told them, “I’m not sayin’ nothin’ about nothin’ until somebody fixes me some breakfast.” That sent the women folk heading for the kitchen and started some pans rattling.

  Brick and I stood there in the foyer for a few long seconds, and finally I said, “Thanks Brick.” He just draped his arm across my shoulder, and we headed for the kitchen. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

  Over eggs, sausages, and pancakes with lots of butter and maple syrup, I entertained the ladies with details of the prom. They wanted to know who went with whom, who wore what, and how did they look. I told them everything I could remember, and then I made up a bunch of stuff to fill in the gaps. They seemed to like the made up stuff better than the real stuff. I explained about getting to Springfield early and James’ little lie and the casual way Sweets left with him. Somehow, I forgot to mention the luxury suite, the pink Champagne, or the missing studs from my tux.