Chapter 13

Deena’s turn:

Sometimes you just have to take a deep breath and be an adult, even if you’re only fourteen.

We have Sandy with us. And a hotel with a king-sized bed, and nobody offered to put anybody up for the night in the Auburn community, so there’s Bill, sounding all apologetic. “I’m sorry. I must’ve clicked the wrong button when I made the reservation. You DO have a room with two queen beds, don’t you?”

“Yessir, we do,” the desk clerk said. “Same price. I see you have one of our preferred customer cards.”

“Yes I do,” Bill said.

That, my friends, is how I ended up sleeping in the same bed as Sandy, brand new friend.

“I ... uh ... you KNOW they’re all THREE married?” she said, speaking of Dave and Brindy and Carlita.

“Yeah, uh-huh ... Still good people, though,” I said. We were in the rest room of the restaurant. No female EVER goes to the restroom by herself if there’s another female present. Sandy’s pretty, blonde (like ME!) and if Carlita says she’s good, then she’s good.

Still, when the lights go out in the hotel room, I’m thinking that my sister’s over there copping little feels of MY baby’s dong. That’s not a BAD thing when I can get my own participation in. However, with Sandy present, it’s strictly hands off.

So, okay ... I can be mature enough about all this. SOMEBODY’S gonna have to do MAJOR payback when we get home.

Forget that, though. Life’s NOT just about sex. We had a great time, before bed, after we got up, breakfast, the roll-up to the wedding.

I’ve never been to a JEWISH wedding before, but I’ve been with one of my friends to a Catholic church service, and I know how to stand when everybody stands and kneel when everybody kneels and this can’t be any worse, right?

It wasn’t. I sat near our pregnant friend, Nikki, and a sweet old Jewish couple gave us a narrative of what was happening as the ceremony progressed. Me, I’m thinking that since Jews’ve been around for five thousand years, they must be doing SOMETHING right, so it’s all very good to me.

I look over at Cindy and her husband and see the satisfied looks on their faces, so this had got to be a good thing.

There’s music. They started out with some traditional Hebrew tunes, then it went slightly sideways because the majority of the musicians are OUR community bunch and that means ANYTHING from klezmer, which is entirely appropriate in this environment, to Cajun, which, as explained by Nikki, ‘nobody can feel sad when there’s a Cajun two-step playing’.

When the scheduled part of the music was over, I found out something about our new friend Sandy.

You see, old Jewish lady on the piano. Yes, ‘old’, as in grey hair, looking like the archetype for somebody’s granny. Sandy eased up next to her.

“Beautiful piano,” she said. I guess so. Baby grand. Steinway.

“Doctor Cohen’s gift. In his memory,” she said.

“You play it well.”

“Thank you, dear. I’ve played all my life.”

“I noticed your range,” Sandy pushed. “Uh, boogie?”

The dear old lady’s eyes flashed. “Oh, not so much any more, but...” Her left hand started a driving boogie beat.

“Wonderful,” Sandy giggled. She put the fingers of her right hand to the keys. “I think we can do this...”

“Go, little lady,” the sweet lady said, driving on.

Now I understand that there are times when a musical instrument take s over a room. This time it’s a piano. There’s a beat ... I have NO idea how one might dance to a boogie, but there’s a couple over there that aren’t a DAY old if they’re not eighty, and I can tell that they’ve been dancing to this beat since they were MY age.

Okay. If a couple of octogenarians can do it... “C’mon, Dad,” I said.

Haley stood off to the side, arms folded ... Watching.

Afterward, I went up to the newly married couple. “Sorry to hijack your wedding.”

The bride, Tara, grinned. “You’re entirely on track with this bunch. I was wondering what would happen.” She turned to her new husband. He looked GOOD in his dress uniform. “Baby, let’s get ‘em to do another one. We’re at LEAST as good as most of ‘em here.”

I gave Dad up to Haley for the second one.

The music was followed by a meal, started with a blessing, ended with a blessing, then the newlywed couple departed for, I imagined, all manner of hot sex and debauchery and I’m a little jealous because I’m expecting another night in the hotel room with me and Sandy in one bed and Dad and Haley in the other, sneaking squeezes on each other.

Sandy sidled up to me. “Uh, Deena...”

“Yeah, Sandy?”

“Uh, if I spent the night over at Cindy’s ... We wanna talk about education options...”

“Uh, okay ... I guess.”

“Okay. Just wanted to talk to you about it. Tell your dad and Haley...”

“Okay. I guess we’ll see you for breakfast before we fly back...”

She smiled. “That’ll work.”

“I didn’t know you played piano,” I said. “Pretty darned good!”

“You LIKED it?” she squeaked.

“Everybody ... You and that lady...”

“Mizz Kogan,” she said. “I bet she could rock a joint when she was in ‘er twenties.”

“Y’all rocked the joint today.”

“Yeah, but the community ... They have a BAND. No keyboardist, though...”

“There’s your sign, Sandy...”

“Oh, god, no. Not Alabama. My dad ... Nina...”

So okay, there’s an obstacle. Still, interesting to find a hidden talent.

The day with the group ended with a light dinner – I had a salad. If I ate with these people and didn’t pay attention – the food’s TOO good – I’d be one of those obesity statistics.

Need exercise.

Got even with those two when we finally got back to the room that night. Exercise.

Next day, after a very good night’s sleep. Poor Dad. Positively catatonic. Breakfast. Biscuits and gravy are universal, as are pancakes, but I question the validity of maple syrup in Alabama. Still a good breakfast with Cindy and Dan. She’s flying us. He’s going off to engineering things that he and my Bill talked about over breakfast.

The flight home was, in Cindy’s words, ‘nominal’. Hit the runway within two minutes of her prediction.

Dropped Sandy off at her house.

“Saturday at noon. Bring an appetite. And beer. Dad likes either Shiner or Sam Adams.” Sandy grinned. “I had a wonderful time. Thank you.”

I’m thinking that Carlita did a good thing, dragging Sandy into the mix, and finally it’s just me and Dad ‘n’ Haley in the car and we’re going home.

“Wow!” I said as the car started down the street from Sandy’s house.

“Yes. Wow.” Haley reinforced. “That was an experience. Baby, what do YOU think?” she asked Dad.

“I like ‘wow’ myself. I didn’t hear a negative comment the whole weekend. Like they just want to find reasons to be happy with people.”

“Like us.” Haley said. “They wanna think they’re surrounded by good people with common goals.”

I’m sometimes surprised when Haley pops up with this stuff, but she’s right. Again.

“Yeah, that’s what I saw,” Dad said.

We got home. Haley ran next door to check in with her mom and step-dad. Me, I just started shedding clothes. I want a naked romp in MY bedroom.

She snickered when she walked back into the house.

“Well?!?” I said.

“It’s NOT just about sex,” she said. She turned to Dad. “And why are YOUR clothes still on?”

He laughed. “Because it’s NOT just about sex.”

Haley was shedding her jeans. “Tell me that after we’re all sticky and satisfied.”

Forty-five minutes later I sighed. “It’s NOT just about sex.”

“You’ve got come on your face,” Haley giggled.

“Doesn’t matter. Baby?” I asked Dad.

“It’s not just about sex. Order pizza. Maybe I’ll be able to move when it gets here,” he said.

I know that it’s times like this that Haley worries about her mom and Stepdad finding out. We really NEED to have that house at the airfield. The papers are supposed to be closed out this week, though.

Delivery pizza meets the minimum requirement for nutrition. We have a brief flurry of activity as we take care of the laundry from our little foray into Alabama, including two dresses and a suit headed for a professional cleaner.

Haley and I have another flurry as we spread textbooks on the living room floor and plot out our assault on the halls of academe tomorrow.

That idea precipitates a meeting the next morning.

“Doctor Panton...”

“Deena, you’re asking me to accept credits for a seminar at Auburn...”

“They’re not exactly a fly-by-night store-front diploma mill...”

“Be that as it may ... How’s robotics going to interface with your electrical engineering aspirations?”

“Well, sir,” I said, “we’re currently working on a high-dexterity gripper – a robotic hand, if you will. I, that is, Haley and I, intend to present it to Doctor Richards and Doctor Granger at Auburn, and for a week, work with 3Sigma Robotics and Auburn University to integrate it in a university-sponsored project.”

“High-dexterity robotic grippers already exist,” he said, bridging his fingers. Looks like he thinks he’s winning.

Okay, Deena Simon. You’re in command here. What’re YOU gonna do? I smiled more inwardly than outwardly, and I called up the reinforcements. “Yessir. I’ve read some of the concurrent developments. We’re adding OUR hardware to an existing autonomous platform.”

“Elaborate,” he smirked, “for my benefit.” As in, ‘Go ahead. Amuse me.’

I sighed theatrically. “Most of the high-dexterity work has to go with specific use, fixed applications. We’re headed off into the woods, almost literally. Our hand goes on a mobile platform that can use OUR hand in the real world as it explores and accomplishes tasks.”

His face sort of changed. “Seriously? Who are you collaborating with?”

“3Sigma Robotics, like I said. Terri Addison is the team lead. I can show you her documentation.”