Chapter 63: Lunch with Linda

Monday, December 20, 1982

When I tried to reach Linda, I just got ringing, then her machine. I decided not to leave another message.

It felt too early to pester Darla. It was never too early to pester Jasmine, though, and she’d be pretty much unavailable from Wednesday on, except for coming over for Christmas Eve.

So ... not Pho King. Rico’s. But the other thing that sounds like soup, yes, that. And dinner at her house. Camille and Francis insisted, and I was more than happy to oblige.

While we weren’t otherwise engaged, Jasmine and I talked over my date with Darla. Predictably, she thought I should push a trifle more than I had. But it was a trifle, not ‘Gail-level’ pushing. When I reminded her that Darla wasn’t part of the Drama gang and might have more conventional attitudes towards what sex ‘meant,’ she agreed, and that ended that. And, ended it the right way.

We weren’t sure if we’d get together on Tuesday or not. It depended on Linda, for one thing. If not, Jasmine would come over in plenty of time to go to the Christmas Eve service with us.

It was funny that that mattered to me. I was hardly the biggest fan of our church, theologically, but I liked it and felt strongly that Dr. Ott and the other ministers were good people. I would hardly want Jasmine to be overwhelmed and convert, but I hoped she enjoyed being in church with us.

Mind you, the same would not have applied later. As much as I disagreed with Missouri Synod Lutheranism in the 1980s, it was nothing to how I felt about it in the 2010s. And, as the faith got more conservative, the observance of the faith had slowly become more about rigidity, conformity, and fear, and less about celebration and joy, or at least that’s how I’d seen it.

9:30pm

Angie came in, rubbed noses, then flopped in bed.

“So ... hot date?”

“Of course.”

She giggled. “Good. What’d she think about things with Darla?”

“That I should push a bit more, but she backed off in the right way when I mentioned Darla perhaps being more traditional.”

“Than the Drama hussies? Pretty much everyone is more traditional than that. Heck, Janet and Lizzie are more traditional than we Drama hussies.”

I chuckled. “Interesting comparison. I suppose I can’t disagree. As far as I know, they’re completely monogamous.”

“And have been since their freshman year.”

“Nice. Of course, so have Jimmy and Connie, and Mike and Sarah, and Emily and the Wonder Twins — if that’s not ... I dunno ... is ‘monogamous’ the right word for a steady threesome?”

“Let’s go with it. Yeah. It’s weird. All three of those couples have broken up, but there have been no ‘We’re on a break’ incidents,” she said.

“‘Friends?’”

“Yeah. Watched it every week. It felt weird that I could relate to these, um ... privileged kids, pretty much ... in New York, where I’d never been, and whose lives were completely unlike mine, but I did. I really liked that show. I’m kinda pissed that it’ll be a decade and a half before I can see it again.”

“How did we...? Oh, yeah. I agree. No one did anything that was a step too far.”

“Which is weird. And we got there from Darla,” she said with a little grin. “I agree, and I’m also someone who tells you to push sometimes. Not with Darla. I actually think she may not be as traditional as all that, but I’ve been known to be wrong — don’t give me that look; it happens! — and screwing things up with Darla would be bad for you in a way that, say, Megan or Linda or ... nearly anyone ... wouldn’t be.”

“Because of Dave.”

She nodded. “Because of Dave. No matter that she isn’t Dave. She’s connected to Dave, emotionally.”

“Got it.”

She hesitated, biting her lip. “Speaking of emotional connections ... I’ve decided.”

“Huh?”

“The card. I’m writing back.”

I gave her a quick hug. “And?”

“I want to send a relatively generic ‘Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Best Wishes’ card. Just an A on it. Basically, an opening to continue the conversation. I may have to discuss this with Mom and Dad, but not right away. If I do ... very, very carefully. I don’t want to upset them, but if they find out I’ve gone around them...”

“It’d be worse than if you’d discussed it, almost no matter how that goes.”

“Much worse. I could tell ... her ... that I’m not allowed to correspond for a year and a half, worst case.”

I hesitated, then gave her another hug. A deeper, warmer one. “I’m going to say something that I think is right, but I could be way off.”

“Um ... okay?”

“She’s your biggest fear.”

Angie stiffened a little, then nodded. “Yeah, got it, and if you know that, you know how I mean that.”

“Turning into her. Any and all of it.”

She sighed, deeply. “Yeah. I am nearly certain that I won’t. Can’t. Too many friends, too strong a family, too much knowledge of what not to do. But ... I can’t believe she intended to be... her. She had a marriage with a great guy. Kid, house in the suburbs, cushy life. And she trashed all of it. I can blame the drugs and the excitement and ... whatever. Those are choices, though. They don’t drag you away. You choose to let them take over.”

“And I’d say I won’t let it happen to you, but...”

“If I was determined, nothing could stop me. Yeah. But ... I can’t really imagine being that determined. It’s there. I have the potential. But even Angie Version One wasn’t her. I have to believe I’ll do better than she did.”

“Me, too,” I said, nodding.

“Your biggest fear is getting married to your ex-wife. Not literally her, but the same relationship.”

“Nah.”

She looked surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I wouldn’t put up with it. Not this time. As much as I’m prone to let things go on a bit long, and put up with things, I’d get a divorce. Or call off the engagement. Or whatever. Fuck it. I’ve died. I can live with the embarrassment of a failed engagement or a marriage that lasts only a week.”

“So...?”

“Not finding anything better. That’s my biggest fear. Like you, I don’t think it’s realistic, but until it ... doesn’t happen, I suppose ... it’s a possibility. If everyone turns into my ex-wife in the end, then I’ll be alone. Alone, I’ll turn into ... someone I don’t want to be. Bitter. Cynical in a bad way.”

She giggled. “That sounds silly, but ... I get it. You’re a cynic, you’re just the most optimistic cynic I can imagine.”

“About right, yeah. This me won’t be Iceberg Steve or whatever, but I could go off the rails some new and awful way.”

“So, we watch each other and get in each other’s face as necessary.”

“Part of loving you, sis. Gotta be there in the hard times.”

“Like a marriage, only without the marriage part,” she said, giggling.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I do.”

“I do, too. But we both knew that.”

“We did.” She leaned in and kissed me. “I’ll never let you go off the rails if I can possibly help it.”

“And I will never let you go off the rails if I can possibly help it, either.”

“That fixes that. We’re not going to fail.”

I chuckled. “I agree. We’re not.”

She stretched. “Good. Because I need sleep. And, not here. Not tonight.”

“Love you, Ang.”

“Love you, Steve.”

“Forever.”

“Always.”

One more little rub of our noses, and off she went.

Tuesday, December 21, 1982

This time I got Linda on the phone. She’d been doing Christmas shopping and other stuff. Today was busy, but tomorrow looked open. We agreed to meet at the mall for lunch and see where things took us.

Jas and I had decided not to get together today. We’d have plenty of time together in a few days. I really did need some time to just chill out and listen to music, play on the computer, read — all those normal high school things I did so much less of this time than last time.

Wednesday, December 22, 1982

I arrived at the food court just a few minutes early. I’d opted for casual-but-nice — hunter-green polo, khakis. Amusingly, it was an outfit that first-life Steve would’ve worn. Oh, the polo would’ve been two sizes larger, the pants four, and they’d have probably been corduroy, but he — I — would’ve worn it.

Linda came through the doors just a few minutes later. She had her long dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, and had gone with a red blouse and charcoal skirt.

Judging purely on looks — which, honestly, I very seldom do — she was probably in the top quarter of the cheerleaders, by my tastes. My highly eclectic tastes, mind you. The only two girls I’d really dated who were all that similar were Nancy and Jess. Linda was taller than either, though, if not by a lot.

Linda looked around, spotted me, waved, and headed over.

“Hey!” she said.

“Hey,” I said.

She looked around. “I eat here more often than I should, but then I can get away with it.”

I chuckled. “Pretty much the same, I suppose. So ... what’s your pleasure, milady?”

“Oh, my! I could go a number of places with a line like that. Most of those places wouldn’t be appropriate for the mall, though!”

“Let’s restrict it, then, to: what is your dining pleasure at the mall food court?”

“So much less fun! I’d say ... um ... actually, I was wondering if we could change destinations a bit?”

“Oh?”

She grinned. “I know you know Rico’s. I’ve got a bit of a craving for tacos, and ... well, let’s face it. This mall does not have good tacos.”

“I’m game. And happy to drive, if you like.”

“I do! You can drop me back at my car later. It’s not like it’s far from Rico’s to here.”

“Not at all,” I said, smiling.

I offered my arm, which got me a giggle, but she took it, and we headed out to the parking lot.

“I feel like almost no one at Memorial would even attempt to walk a girl on his arm, unless it was a big date night, and most of them would screw it up. You’re a character, Steve Marshall.”

I smiled. “I try to be. There’s very little point in being quiet and retiring and ordinary, unless you’re trying to blend in as a spy, or are painfully shy, or just don’t want to be bothered, or ... whatever. Which I suppose means there’s plenty of point in it, but it doesn’t appeal to me.”

We’d reached my car, so I opened the passenger door and helped her in, closing the door for her, then going around.

“Nice car! And I mean that non-ironically, too. Old, obviously a starter car, but well kept and comfortable. I drive an old car, too, but it’s little. I wish it was larger. I can’t haul that many friends around, even though most of us are kinda little.”

I chuckled. “Thanks. And, well, it depends. There’s a big difference between Jessica and, say, Cheryl.”

“Well, yeah. Some of us have to hold up the rest of the girls, and then some of us have to be small enough to be held up! I’m more in the middle - can’t fly high, can’t anchor pyramids, but I don’t crush the anchors, either.”

We chatted for a bit about how exactly that worked — how the girls specialized, and what skills you needed for which roles, and so forth. She seemed pleased that someone was taking an interest in the details of how cheerleaders actually did what they did.

I pulled up to Rico’s, parked, and went around. She was already out, but took my arm as we walked in. The guy behind the counter was someone I recognized, but I hadn’t caught names yet. It wasn’t Rico, anyway.

Linda perused the menu, then rattled off her choices — three tacos, a quantity I slightly questioned — in Spanish. Not that the names weren’t mostly Spanish, but she was obviously showing off. I rattled mine off, at least not mangling the pronunciation, and paid for the whole mess (but, of course, Rico’s makes for a very cheap date).

She grinned as we grabbed a table (all three were available, as usual) and sat.

“So ... I feel like I should be up-front with you, since ... I’m used to that. I like you. You’re really cool, you’re also really nice and helpful and fun to be around, and you’ve got the recommendation of someone I really, really trust. I hear stories about how things are in Drama,” she said, winking. “Of course, I do. They seem to enjoy telling those stories. Cheerleading has ... similarities ... which you know, I’m sure.”

“I’ve heard a few things from someone who’s in a position to know.”

She giggled. “Look, I could just say we’re a bunch of sluts, and that’d be ... more true than not?”

The way she said it, and the way she looked, pretty much said this was a challenge. It obviously didn’t bother her, which made me happy. She wanted to know if it bothered me.