Chapter 92: Friendship, and More?

Saturday, May 8, 1982

I pulled up to Jessica’s house right at 11am. I’d again gone for casual date-wear — green button-down, black slacks, loafers.

She was outside, waiting, wearing a light green blouse and a beige skirt. A notably short skirt, even on a girl known for notably short skirts. Previous comment about her panties notwithstanding, I took it as at least a hint that their location could possibly change. Whether either of us was ready for that, I wasn’t sure.

I pulled up to the curb and she hopped in. “Hi, Steve!” She slid across the seat, gave me a quick kiss, then scooted back over and belted herself in.

“Any requests?”

“Actually ... yes.” She grinned. “You obviously don’t mind a drive, and there’s a restaurant that two of my girls suggested I try. It’s on the spicy end, but they can back off if you want.”

“Me tough! Me can take it!”

She giggled a bit. “Bangkok Thai. It’s over near Rice. I guess rents are pretty cheap there for fledgling restaurants, and students are more willing to try stuff.”

I nodded. In 1980, the Rice Village area was ... low-rent. Lots of thrift shops, used record and book stores, fledgling restaurants, all anchored (perhaps more in the boat sense than is usual when discussing shopping areas) by an adult movie theater. I loved Thai food, though it made sense to pretend less knowledge than I had.

“I’m game. When we get close, give me directions.”

She laughed. “A guy who’ll follow directions is a keeper!” I hit the road. “So, you’re incredibly busy shortly?”

“Yeah. Starting tomorrow. Rehearsals every day except Tuesday. Full dress rehearsal Thursday, shows Friday through Sunday. Official cast party Sunday night, unofficial cast party to be announced later.”

“The official party would be an undress-rehearsal?” She smirked a bit.

“I ... have no idea except for some possibly scurrilous rumors I have heard.”

“I think most people have heard those.”

“We’ll see.”

“A lot, possibly!”

“Possibly.”

She smiled, then looked thoughtful. As is my wont, I simply waited her out.

“You are still much too good at this! That’s my game,” she finally said with a giggle. A possibly exasperated giggle, but a giggle. “Fine. I’m going to just level with you. You’re too smart not to know that I’m taking this slowly partly because the risk of crazy gossip is so high.”

I nodded. “I guessed that before we even went out.”

“It doesn’t bother you? It does kinda say that I don’t trust you.”

I shrugged. “Why should you? Someone being trustworthy with their friends says nothing about how they’ll behave when presented with new and interesting information. Maybe it’d give them extra incentive to spill the beans, since they’re tight with their friends.”

She peered at me for a second. “You see around corners about as well as I do, I think. Maybe not a surprise, but interesting. Anyway, I ... well, you figured out, last time, that I really do like you.” She grinned. “Or, if not ... that wasn’t a game. I do. But I don’t trust people easily.”

“And I can’t fault you for that. Catfighting and jealousy are stereotypes, but stereotypes are often based on realities.”

“I’ll just be blunt. You’re my only straight male friend. No, I’m not saying the guys I’ve dated are all gay, I’m saying they’re not friends. At least, not close friends. More like acquaintances or ‘work friends.’ We support athletics, athletics supports us; so, of course, I’m friendly with team captains and quarterbacks and whatnot. But, friends? Yeah, no.”

“So, why me?”

“Positive word of mouth, discretion, brains, and - like I said last time - Jasmine. If I thought you’d ditch Jasmine and make a run at me, that’d be different, but I don’t.”

“I wouldn’t. Not a thing...”

“I know. Look, um ... here’s one of those juicy pieces of gossip. I’m not sure if you know Dawn Wheeler.”

“Um ... not really.”

“I only somewhat know her. She was cheer captain when we were in eighth grade. I know her because, well, recruiting. The same way I know Sam Myers. Who we’ll talk about later,” she winked. “Anyway, she was my first mentor at the high school level. I talked to her quite a bit, and also talked to friends of hers. She’s the one who told me how high the stakes are in keeping secrets. She told the wrong guy the wrong secret and ... well, she had a ‘boyfriend’ for her whole senior year, because if she pissed him off, her name and the names of several of her friends would’ve been dragged through some serious mud.”

I blinked. “As far as I’m concerned, if you’re saying what I think you’re saying, that’s essentially rape.”

“Which puts you up there as one of the good guys, as if I needed confirmation. Yeah. It ... she avoided digging herself in worse, but it was a rough year. Fortunately, he didn’t want to push things past graduation, or he could’ve made it much worse.”

“I completely understand. Many people are vulnerable to one sort of blackmail or another.” I was, though more of the ‘Steve has been betting tens of thousands!’ sort than ‘Steve is a time traveler!’ No one would believe the second without a lot of proof. The first? They’d want money, most likely.

“So, you see why the caution. Even that make-out session ... well, I could survive that pretty well, but if anything was good bragging fodder, that was. And before you say it, no, I did not plan that. One of the few times I was really spontaneous!” She grinned. “And I’m glad I was.”

“Going the other way, I told a friend of mine that I don’t think you do much of anything without looking at every angle. And that, despite that, I thought you were good people.”

“True. And, I hope, also true. It’s easy to fool yourself about that, though.”

“It is.”

She fell silent again, then continued. “I asked about Sheila. And now that I’ve said that, let me talk about Sam, first.” She giggled a bit. “Just in case we get too sidetracked. Sam is ... Sam has practically unlimited potential. She’ll be one of the top two or three freshmen next year. She could have my job as a junior if she wants it enough and doesn’t let herself get derailed. Last year was a relatively weak freshman class, so she could ace them out. So could a couple others, obviously. She can outdo me in gymnastics, though she’s not Olympic-level, either. If you haven’t placed high in a national meet by fourteen, you’re not going to the Olympics barring some major fluke. But she could win college meets if she works at it. And obviously, I didn’t hit her with all of this, but enough.”

I nodded. “She’s cool. I like her quite a bit.”

“You and Sam...?”

“Couldn’t answer, either way, and you know that.”

She smirked. “I do. She has an enormous crush. On each of us. She’s also smart enough to understand that they are crushes, not serious romantic thoughts.”

“Yeah, I caught that.”

At this point I was near enough our destination that Jessica directed me the rest of the way. It turned out that Bangkok Thai was on the same street as the adult theater. We could watch ‘A Thousand and One Erotic Nights’ if we wanted to. Well, except for needing to be eighteen. Who knew if the bored clerk would care?

I walked her in and busied myself with the menu. I knew what I wanted, and there it was: Pad Thai. An indulgence, but I hadn’t had it in years. As in, not since the first go-round. I dawdled over my menu for appearances, but set mine down when she did, which was pretty quickly, too.

“So soon!”

“I’m going with Pad Thai.”

“Ahh. Good choice. Pad Kee Mao for me.”

“Sounds good.”

“They have a useless hotness chart here.” She pointed; it tried to equate Thai spices to jalapeños. Maybe that’s good for a few people around here, but even two different jalapeños can vary significantly, and they’re just not that hot compared to a lot of other peppers. Some Thai peppers are nightmares if you’re not used to them. Of course, so are some non-Thai peppers.

I shrugged. “We’re fairly obviously gringos. If they’re surviving in Houston, they know what to do.”

She giggled. “Good attitude!”

Our waitress bustled over and took our order. “So, back to the subject I dropped. Sheila. Pun ... not intended, but acknowledged.”

“She told me it’s okay to share what I think I should. And that she’s open to being open to rebuilding things, I think.”

“In other words, she’ll put down the axe, but she won’t fall at my feet and beg.” She hesitated. “That would be horrible, actually. If anyone’s falling to someone’s feet and begging, it should be me.”

“That’s a fair enough paraphrase. My opinion, and not something she said, is that she’d really like to be friends, but only if that means being friends. If it means being acquaintances, then that, but not calling it friends.”

“She’s changed a lot.” She looked me in the eye. “I’m certain I know why.”

“I’ve enjoyed being her friend. She needed one, especially of the male variety.”

“She desperately needed one, and I couldn’t suggest one. Not after what I did.”

“Let’s jump to that. Did you two say things...?”

“Hard words? Not really, no. We had a few tear-filled conversations where she bitched me out, and ... I deserved it, and more. But there was nothing that ... well, nothing we shouldn’t be able to get past.”

“Good. That helps.”