Chapter 5

I just stared at her for a few seconds as tears ran down my cheeks. My lips moved, but no words came out. Probably for the best—anything I said would only make things worse.

I blew out a lungful of air, looked down, and muttered, “Okay.” The keys were still in the ignition. Thirty seconds later, Hannah was in her driveway, heading toward the kitchen door without looking back.

Driving away, I pounded both hands on the steering wheel and screamed, “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Ten silent minutes later, I was nearing my neighborhood when a sharp pain struck my groin. The first twinge felt like a kick to the balls, followed by a vice-like grip that had me squirming in agony as I struggled to drive.

I’d been hit down there before, but the pain never lasted that long. By the time I made it to my room, it still hadn’t let up.

The folks were in the TV room watching Hawaii Five-O. I slipped downstairs and grabbed the phone. “Hey Paul, help me out here.”

His voice was instantly alert. “Yeah, what’s wrong? You sound terrible.”

“I feel like someone punched me in the goddamn nuts.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, actually—that might be the least of my problems. Okay, uh ... Hannah and I were making out...”

“Whoa, when did this start?”

“Last week at the movies. We kissed and shit, even some tongue—she was really into it.”

“Orange jumpsuit, bud.”

“Yeah, whatever ... So tonight, we were making out in the car. I was working on her boobs, and when I went...”

“Boobs! My little baby boy is growing up! You got to feel some boobies? What are you now, thirty-seven?”

“Look, I don’t need you being an asshole right now! The problem is she freaked out and got all pissy as soon as I touched her down there...”

Paul’s tone instantly shifted. “Okay, that’s not good.”

“ ... so I had to take her home. And then, fifteen minutes later, my balls start hurting so bad I can barely walk. They still haven’t stopped. I’m dying, man.”

“What you have here is a classic case of blue balls. Tell me—this is the farthest you’ve ever gotten with a girl, right?”

“I’m more worried she’ll never want to talk to me again.”

“You’re asking relationship advice from a guy who doesn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Dunno, maybe you’re gay. Do any of my friends have girls?”

“Please, let me be serious.”

“Yes, please.”

“You already pushed too hard—just back off and give her space to sort things out.”

“What if she hates me? How long do I have to wait?”

“Risk you take, man, but I’d give it a day or two—then tell her everything was your fault.”

“Wait it out—great. Any ideas about the balls?”

Paul snorted. “See, when she shut you down, all that sperm that was expecting to shoot up inside of her got bottled up in your balls with no escape. You’re just gonna have to rub it out and take a hot bath, dude.”

“As long as it stops. This is killing me.”

The next morning, I was fine physically—but mentally, I was a mess. Scared shitless that at any moment, the thread would snap, and the sword would come crashing down on my neck.

I made some oatmeal for breakfast but barely touched it.

I tried to read the sports section but didn’t give a shit.

I went for a walk in the woods, but instead of skipping stones across the pond, I was hurling them into it.

I got home before lunch, went to the living room, and put a record on the stereo—The Moody Blues’ Days of Future Passed. Headphones clamped on, volume up, I laid on the floor and closed my eyes.

I must have dozed off, because twenty minutes later, the needle’s scratching pulled me from my haze, and I flipped the record over.

By the time the last song started, I was completely zoned out.

Beauty I’d always missed{br}

With these eyes before, {br}

Just what the truth is{br}

I can’t say anymore.

’Cause I love you, {br}

Yes, I love you, {br}

Oh, how I love you...

Cold-hearted orb that rules the night, {br}

Removes the colors from our sight, {br}

Red is gray and yellow white, {br}

But we decide which is right.{br}

And which is an illusion.

Lacking the energy to do anything else, I slid the record back into its sleeve and pulled out Boston.

When I’m tired and thinking cold{br}

I hide in my music, forget the day{br}

And dream of a girl I used to know{br}

I closed my eyes and she slipped away{br}

She slipped away-ay-aaaay...

Damn it.

No fucking way I was giving up yet.

I wiped my tears, stomped into the kitchen, grabbed the phone, and dialed my aunt’s house.

“Hannah?”

“Yeah?”

“This is Joe.”

“I know.”

“I ... I wanted to check ... and see if you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, really. I mean ... I don’t want you to hate me. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t hate you. I’m fine.”

“Are you coming to the game tonight?”

“I don’t know. It depends on how I feel.”

“But you said—”

“I’m fine. I gotta go now. I’ll see you later. Bye.”

Click.

Well ... she said she didn’t hate you.

That night at my game, it was the second inning when Randy finally asked, “Joe, where’s the wifey tonight?”

Still staring straight ahead at the opposing pitcher, I frowned. “Not sure. I don’t think she came tonight.”

“Whoa, trouble in paradise?”

“Eh, we had a little ... incident last night. I’m waiting for her to get over it.”

“Well, if you guys ever go Splitsville, mind giving me her number?”

I spun around. “Hey, fuck you.”

Bruce jumped up and stepped between us. “Guys—chill! We don’t need no fighting.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, getting up and heading for the dugout.

After the game, Aunt Janet, Dave, and Sarah were waiting in the stands. I walked over and asked my aunt, “Where’s Hannah?”

“Said she had a headache. Spent most of the afternoon in bed.”

Once home, I went straight to my room and put the Pirates game on the radio. They beat the Padres seven to one and went up three and a half games on the Expos. As soon as the game was over, I shut off my light and buried myself under the blankets.

At least my appetite was back on Wednesday. For lunch, I fried up some chipped ham, topped it with a slice of American cheese, a slice of tomato, a squirt of mustard, and a lump of coleslaw.

I was nearly finished when the phone rang. Reaching up from the table, I answered, “Hello?”

“Joe, I got some great news!”

“Yeah—who’s...”

“Hannah, dummy.”

“I thought so.”

“I made the team!”

“Oh, the—”

“Yeah, the cross country team! I went out this morning and did the three miles in seventeen minutes and change! Kicked ass—excuse my language!”

“That’s so great! I’m proud of you.”

“I’m the only girl and the only ninth-grader. I get to travel and dress, and then the coach will decide before each meet if I get to run.”

“I bet your legs look better than anyone else’s when all a’yunz have those little shorts on.”

“Joe, I hope you’re not looking at the guys’ legs.”

“Of course not. And, um ... are we good?”

“We’re getting better.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too. Sorry for being so bitchy.”

“No—you weren’t...”

“Joe, don’t argue with a woman when she’s forgiving you.”

I sighed. “Yes, dear.”

“Good. You just have to remember—I decide if ... and when.”

“We were getting all into it, and I thought...”

“Yes, we were, but it already went past where I wanted it to, and then I got scared it was going way too fast.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just wait for me. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay, got it.” I took a deep breath, then continued, “You comin’ to the game tonight?”

“Yeah, as far as I know, Mom’s bringing us all down again.”

“Can’t wait. Hey—before you go, is Dave there?”

“I think he’s down in the kitchen. I’ll yell at him to pick up the phone.” She screamed, “Daaaave, Joe’s on the phone for you!”

I heard the phone being jostled before my cousin’s voice came through. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

I waited a split second until I heard the click of Hannah’s extension hanging up, then started in. “Seriously, dude—twelve?”

“What?”

“Ellen.”

“Uhhh...”

“Jones—from the party last week. Forget already?”

“Oh, wow—where did you hear that?”

“From her. She told me after the game on Monday.”

“No way!”

“Yeah way, and my cock’s bigger.”

“Whoa—how the...”

“I showed it to her.”

“Wait a minute, wasn’t Hannah with you that night?”

Fuck—busted!

I heard Aunt Janet ask, “Honey, where was Hannah?”

Dave turned away from the phone. “Nothing, Mom. Joe and Hannah saw something on the way home Monday.”

After a brief silence, I responded, “Yeah, and she liked it too!”

“DUDE!”

We lost the third game of the finals on Wednesday and were on the verge of elimination. Hannah was there with her family, but she was quiet during our post-game conversations.

Thursday, we tied the series. Then on Friday, we dominated, winning the championship with a resounding seven-one victory. The moment the final out was squeezed, players flooded the infield from their positions, the bullpen, and the bench, forming a screaming mob. Nearly all of us had given up dreams of professional baseball, but in three days, we’d be playing in the tournament we’d grown up watching.

Monday would be Opening Night at the stadium. Registration, the banquet, and the dance were on Sunday. As for Saturday—well, as the thrill of the moment began to settle, our left fielder, Rich Hall, yelled, “Hey guys! Listen up—party at my house tomorrow night! Lots of food and, uh ... drinks for everyone. I want to see all a’yunz there—bring a friend!” One last group cheer rang out before we split off to meet friends and family.

Hannah was back to her bubbly self, bouncing up and down as she hugged me in the stands. When she let go, I turned to my aunt. “We’re, um ... having a team party tomorrow. Can I take Dave and Hannah?”

Hannah grabbed my arm and pleaded, “Please, Mom?”

Aunt Janet squinted. “Is there going to be alcohol?”

“Yeah, probably some beer.”

She sighed. “I appreciate your honesty. You know my rules.”

“Yes, ma’am, I do ... and thank you.”

Hannah squealed in delight and latched onto my arm as we walked toward the lot. Dave asked, “What time tomorrow?”

“Starts at seven. I’ll be out at your place a little after six.”

“Sounds good, bro,” he said, while Hannah gave my arm another squeeze.

I pulled into the alley behind the Hall’s house, parking on the grass next to a cluster of other cars. As we walked toward the brightly lit back porch, I leaned toward Hannah. “If anyone asks, just tell them you’re sixteen.”

Inside, the finished basement was already half full, music playing at a reasonable volume. We were quickly greeted by our host.

“Joe, glad to see you!” Richie called out.

“Hey Richie, how ya doing? This is Dave Carter from Coke, and his sister, Hannah.”

Richie shook their hands. “Yeah, hi—pleased to meet you. I’ve seen you guys around at the games. Make yourselves comfortable—lots of food and drinks.”

Dave disappeared into the crowd while Hannah followed me to the keg. I grabbed a plastic cup, filled it, and handed her an empty one.

She frowned. “But you promised Mom—no alcohol.”

“Don’t get drunk, and she’ll never know. Here, give me your cup.”

She took a sip and scrunched her nose. “What kind of beer is this?”

“I dunno. The kind that comes out of an unmarked silver keg?”

She smacked her lips. “Eh, not too bad—I can get used to it.”

Randy strolled over, and a faint unease lingered from our exchange earlier in the week.

“Hi, Hannah—nice seeing you again. Joe’s told us a lot about you.”

Hannah shot me a questioning look, and I shrugged. “Just that you’re the most smokin’ hot, wicked smart, charming girl I’ve ever known.”

Randy chuckled. “Yeah, something like that.”

Hannah slipped her arm through mine. “I fall for the smart ones. That tells me he has potential.”

As Randy walked off, I scanned the room. I spotted Lori—well known for being easy—but she hadn’t given me the time of day when I tried introducing myself at the last party. And there was—

“So, you’ve got the most smokin’ hot girl hanging on your arm, and you’re checking out other women?” Hannah teased.

How did she...?

I kept my voice calm. “I see Vickie’s back with Bill Mock.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

I nodded toward the right corner of the room. “Over there—the brunette with the tall blonde guy.”

“So, you know her?”

“Just from games and parties. Well ... I did ask her out back in June.”

“Oh yeah? What happened?”

“She gave me her number, I called twice. She was nice both times, said she was busy, try again later. After two tries, I dropped it.”

“Sounds like you made the right choice.”

“You’ll probably see her at school—she goes to Pineland too. I think she’s gonna be a junior.”

Hannah tilted her head back and drained her cup. Handing it to me, she asked, “Can you get me another one?”

“Uh ... yeah, sure. But let’s not overdo it.”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, following me back to the keg.

“I’ve heard that before.”

She took a sip from the fresh cup I handed her. “I’m just buzzed a little.”

“That’s what they all say. You know how pissed your mom’s gonna be if I bring you home buzzed.”

She looked up at me with big eyes. “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“I said, kiss me.”

I leaned down and gave her a brief peck. “You taste like beer.”

As we turned away, my hand resting on the middle of her back, she said, “I just want everyone to know you’re mine.”

A few minutes later, Dave wandered over. “Where’ve you been?” I asked.

“I met this chick Lori—she just blew me in the bathroom.”

“Shit, Dave, I can’t take you anywhere.”

“And I leave you alone with my sister, and you get her drunk?”

“I am not drunk,” Hannah shot back.

“And I am not a stud. Whatever! Catch you guys later.”

As Dave disappeared, I turned to Hannah. “Want me to get you a sandwich and some chips? Soak up some of the booze?”

She perched on the arm of a chair. “Sure, I’ll be here.”

At the food table, I ran into Bill Mock, making plates of his own. “Hey Joe, did I see you with a girl tonight?”

I stacked turkey, American, and mayo onto a sandwich. “Yeah, Hannah Constantino.”

“How long you been seeing her?”

I piled ham and roast beef onto mine. “About a month. They just moved here. She’ll be going to Pineland.”

“Well, good job.”

I finished each plate with a handful of Snyder’s chips. Realizing I had two plates and a cup to carry, I chugged the rest of my beer, then headed back to Hannah, Bill following.

When we arrived, Vickie was standing next to Hannah. Both were giggling and sneaking glances my way. Vickie leaned in and whispered something, sending Hannah into uncontrollable laughter.

I raised an eyebrow. “Hi Vickie, how are you?”

“Great, Joe. I just met Hannah, and she’s been telling me all about you.”

Bill handed Vickie her plate as I replied, “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

She grinned. “I’ll never tell.”

Bill added, “He’s a good guy, Hannah,” and I nodded in appreciation.

At that moment, the mix tape reached the chorus of My Sharona, and the entire room raised their fists, shouting in unison.

“My Sharona!”

As the music settled, Bill turned to Vickie. “C’mon, I see Todd over there.”

I gave a small wave. “Later.”

Vickie smiled back.

I sat down, and Hannah, still perched on the chair’s arm, smirked. “You know, she really was busy.”

“What? You asked?”

“I wanted to see if there was anything wrong with you. Maybe not. Her loss.”

I looked up at her, feeling my cheeks burn as I smiled.

We both spent the next few minutes making quick work of our food, hers washed down with beer. When Rod Stewart started playing, I glanced up at her and sang along.

If you want my body
and you think I’m sexy
come on, sugar,
let me know!

Hannah pushed her sandwich aside and burst out laughing, snorting mid-laugh.

“I didn’t think it was that funny!” I teased.

Still trying to regain her composure, she placed a hand on my shoulder. “Oh God, you kill me.”

“No more beer for you.”

“Huh—well, let me finish my food then.”

As we both stood by the garbage can, Billy Joel came on. I tugged at Hannah’s arm. “C’mon.”

She stumbled slightly as I pulled her along, joining a growing circle of people who had linked arms around each other. More people streamed in from outside. As the song continued, we swayed back and forth, singing at the top of our lungs.

It’s nine o’clock on a Saturday
The regular crowd shuffles in
There’s an old man sitting next to me
Making love to his tonic and gin

He says, “Son, can you play me a memory?
I’m not really sure how it goes
But it’s sad and it’s sweet
And I knew it complete
When I wore a younger man’s clothes”

Verse after verse, voices carried through the basement. As I sang, I suddenly felt an intense tickle on my backside. I turned to see Hannah grinning up at me.

Sing us a song, you’re the piano man
Sing us a song tonight
Well, we’re all in the mood for a melody
And you’ve got us feeling alright

For the rest of the song, her fingertips trailed up and down the back of my thigh. Despite the beer in my system, my body was definitely reacting.

When the song ended, Hannah puckered her lips, looking up at me expectantly. I leaned down, intending a simple kiss, but her tongue pushed between my lips. I pulled back slightly and whispered, “Outside.”

She grinned and took my hand, practically dragging me behind her. Out in the driveway, we found a dark spot alongside the garage. As I wrapped my arms around her waist, she gazed up at me and whispered, “Do ya think I’m sexy?”

I answered with my lips, pressing into hers as she fell back against the garage wall. This time, I didn’t hesitate—welcoming her tongue, letting my hands roam. I traced up and down her back, then over her shorts before moving back up to squeeze her breasts. She grabbed my butt, pulling me closer, but her shorter frame caused me to press into her belly instead.

When I finally pulled back for air, I suddenly felt her hand squeeze me through my slacks. My breath hitched. Over her shoulder, I caught movement—several people on the back porch, not thirty feet away.

I leaned in. “Let’s go to the car—we don’t need to be putting on a show.”

She nodded, and we slipped away.

Inside the Pinto, we turned toward each other, straining over the hand brake as our lips met again. Hannah’s hand found me once more, stroking through my pants, then fumbling at my zipper.

Frustrated, she huffed, “C’mon! I want to see it again!”

Oh my God.

My pulse pounded.

She struggled with the zipper again, then pouted. “You do it. I don’t have time to play around.”

I leaned back, lifting myself off the seat just enough to undo my belt buckle. Flipping open Kennywood, I slid my pants down below my hips. Before I could fully settle, Hannah’s small hand slipped inside the fly of my boxers, wrapping around me.

A shiver ran through me as I stroked the inside of her thigh, my breath hitching when she pulled me free, her fingers gliding up and down along my length with deliberate ease.

My hand moved higher along her thigh, but hesitation crept in. “Are you going to smack me if I touch you?” I murmured.

She smirked. “You’re going to get smacked if you don’t touch me.”

With that, she unsnapped her shorts, leaning back as her left hand reached for me again.

My breathing grew quick and shallow as she resumed her slow, deliberate movements. I laid my palm on her belly, then slipped my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, tracing lower until I felt the wiry texture of her pubic hair. My fingertips lingered for a moment, mapping the soft contours before continuing downward.

She gasped, her grip on me tightening as my fingers found the warmth and wetness between her folds.

Hannah writhed beneath my touch, her breath hitching as I explored deeper, her body responding instinctively. Suddenly, she tensed, her thighs clamping around my hand as a sharp cry escaped her lips.

Her back arched, a shudder running through her as she gasped, “Yes!” before her body went rigid, then slowly relaxed. Trapped in her grip, I continued to caress her gently, feeling the last tremors fade as she finally melted against me.

Her grip on me remained firm as I edged closer, her eyes flicking up to meet mine with a playful smile. After a brief pause, she lowered her mouth, her tongue tracing along my length with slow, deliberate strokes. A shudder ran through me as my fingers tightened around her thigh.

My breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. “I’m—God, I’m—”

She didn’t pull away, holding steady as I tensed beneath her touch. A muffled sound escaped her throat as she swallowed, then she finally pulled back, leaning into her seat with a satisfied sigh.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I reached for her hand, intertwining our fingers as we sat in the quiet, catching our breath.

Eventually, she reached down to fix her pants and sighed. “Can we go for a walk? I don’t want to go home yet.”

The night air was cool as we strolled hand in hand down the quiet neighborhood street. “Hannah, I—”

She pressed a finger to her lips, silencing me.

A few blocks later, she pointed to a lawn sloping gently toward the street. Without a word, she led me into the grass and sat down, pulling me beside her.

“Just listen,” she said softly. “That was the first time I’ve ever done that. Well—I’ve touched one before, but never put it in my mouth. And the first time I had anyone else make me feel like that.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but she shook her head. “Shush.” Then she continued. “I’m sorry for the other day, but you scared me. One of the reasons I really like you is because you haven’t tried to take advantage of me. I could see how you were looking at me, and I thought it was kind of cute how little me could intimidate you. But then you got all grabby, and I was afraid I was losing control.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Wait, I’m not done.” She reached for my hand. “See, I love my mom—but I don’t want to be my mom. How many times has she been married? She was knocked up in high school and hasn’t kept a guy for more than a few years. I don’t want my life to be like that.”

A tear welled in my eye. “What can I do?”

She locked her gaze with mine. “Just shut up, kiss me, and hold me.”

It was a slow, tender kiss—no urgency, no hunger. Just two people holding on to each other, trying to figure things out. No tongue. Just warmth.

We lay in the grass, my right arm around her, her head resting on my shoulder. I felt her breath against my chest, her heartbeat steady and calm as I stared at the sky, counting the stars in the clear night.

After ten or fifteen minutes, she whispered, “We can go now. I’m starting to get cold.”

Hand in hand, we walked back to the car. Neither of us spoke until, eyes downcast as she kicked at the cinders along the side of the street, she murmured, “I bet I wasn’t the best at it.”

She glanced up, waiting for my reaction. I grinned. “Best I ever had.”

She elbowed me in the side. “And let me guess—you’re gonna tell me I was the only one.”

“No—there was once before, but it wasn’t that good. She didn’t ... I mean ... I never, uh, finished.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. You can say the word cum in front of me.”

“Okay, I didn’t cum.”

She squeezed my hand. “Well then—I did good!”

I chuckled and stroked her hair as we walked. Then, unexpectedly, I felt something warm slipping down my cheek.

Hannah stopped. “Joe—are you crying?” She reached up and wiped my face, her expression softening. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh ... I was just thinking about that song at the party—the guy asking the Piano Man to play something old. He says, ‘It’s sad and it’s sweet, and I knew it complete, when I wore a younger man’s clothes.’”

“Yeah?”

“And being here with you ... it’s overwhelming. And I wonder—forty, fifty years from now, staring at your picture—will I remember everything? Or will it just be bits and pieces, scattered memories?”

Tears streamed freely down my face now.

Hannah smiled gently, then pressed her index finger into my chest. “You don’t think I’ll be here to remind you of every single time you screwed up?”

I let out a wet chuckle, shaking my head, before wrapping my arms around her and burying my face in her hair.

We’d been told to arrive at the hotel no later than ten a.m. on Sunday for registration. I got there a few minutes early and watched as my teammates trickled in. Detroit was already in the conference room, with Baltimore, Brooklyn, and Cincinnati having finished. Some of their players lingered around the hotel and parking lot, chatting as more teams arrived with their luggage.

Peeking inside, I saw the line moving toward the desk, each player stating their name and presenting their birth certificate.

I returned to the lobby, dropped onto a sofa, and brushed my hand over my shirt pocket to reassure myself I hadn’t forgotten my own proof of age.

Randy spotted me as he came through the door and made a beeline for the couch, holding out his fist. “Dude!”

Lazily, I reached up and bumped it. “What’s up?”

“Sounded like you had a great time last night!”

I suddenly felt warm. “Uh, yeah—it was a good party.”

“Don’t be shy, man—we heard your girl all the way back at the house.”

My head snapped toward him, and I quickly stood, closing the distance. Lowering my voice, I said, “Please—don’t make a scene. The last thing I need is for her to get all pissed off.”

“It’s cool, man. Just thought you might be celebrating. We were high-fiving on the back porch.”

“Oh, God—just a little privacy, that’s all I’m asking.”

“Yeah, well—you, me, and a dozen or so other guys.”

“Fuck.”

For the next twenty minutes, every time someone said, “Hey, Joe,” I wondered what they were really thinking.

Five hours later, all sixteen teams gathered at the country club for the banquet.

“Long, where’s your tie?”

I looked up to see my coach scowling at me. “Haven’t worn it since I had my senior picture taken. Hate the feeling of being strangled.”

“You have one tie?”

“Yeah, somewhere.”

“Well, at least you wore a suit coat. Try not to spill your dinner on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Each team got three tables. As the host team, we were front and center, and I picked a seat facing the podium.

I squirmed when Rich flashed me a thumbs-up as he sat next to me. “Have a good time last night?”

“Yeah, thanks—good party.”

“No problem.”

The tournament officials took turns droning on, thanking sponsors, volunteers, and the city for hosting. Rich leaned over and muttered, “Yada, yada, yada ... where’s the food?”

I was half-dozing when they introduced the featured speaker—Hall of Fame pitcher Bob Feller—who launched into his story of going from Iowa cornfields to the major leagues.

I nudged Rich. “Hear that? Tied the American League record—seventeen K’s in a game. He hadn’t even started his senior year of high school. And look at us.”

“No shit?”

“Shit.”

A few minutes later, Rich whispered, “How many guys here do you think will make the majors?”

I did the math. Two hundred eighty-eight players in the tournament ... but I already knew the answer from tracking the guys who had come through town in previous years. “Four or five, give or take a couple.”

Not long after, waiters began carrying out covered plates of chicken cordon bleu, green beans, and mashed potatoes. Several trays were stacked within my reach. I finished my meal quickly, and seeing no waiters nearby, I grabbed a second plate and dropped it onto my dirty one.

Rich shook his head. “Damn, dude, I don’t know how you still weigh a hundred and forty.”

After dinner, I made a quick trip home to change for the evening dance—casual slacks and a golf shirt.