Chapter 81: Questions of Trust

Sunday, February 6, 1983

I let everyone know to expect things to get going with Mr. Brandt’s campaign any day now. It was still quiet until things were official, but we were ready to go.

Jas and I talked a bit more about our college plan. I had to make myself remember that this was a very big deal for her. I’d lived with roommates before, lived with a woman before, been married before, had my own apartment, my own house, been there, done that. All of it was completely new for her. I let my excitement mirror hers, trying to see all of this through new eyes. As with many things — what was old can often become new again, when you let it.

A few people picked up on the discussion. I could virtually see the wheels spinning in each couple (counting Emily and the Wonder Twins as a couple, of course). Would they get a place together? Were they ready? What did it mean if they weren’t? Or if only one of them was?

Most of them had about a year to get this figured out. It wasn’t a race. Jas and I were just jumping the gun a bit. The time where decisions had to be made was next spring, when dorm applications needed to go in. Summer might even still be possible. The later one waited, the more difficult things got.

Monday, February 7, 1983

First Steffie, then Meg, filled us in on the Waltrip results. For Drama, Debra had qualified in Humorous, and Carla had qualified in Dramatic. For Debate, Crystal had qualified in LD, and Jeff had qualified in Extemp. Just like that, we had four more people going to State! Despite all that, Memorial had hardly dominated, which was likely a relief to the other schools attending.

We spent the last fifteen minutes of Debate celebrating Lizzie’s eighteenth birthday. It wasn’t a big deal for her — she had supportive parents and so forth — and yet, of course, it also was. Eighteen was a big deal for any American kid. It had been for decades and would continue to be for decades to come.

It’s nice that, sometimes, with all of the things that change from era to era, some things remain near constants.

When I got home from school, there was a message from Mr. Brandt confirming that he’d filed as a candidate. Unlike our experience at Memorial, he hadn’t gotten any feelings of surprise, or the lack thereof, from the rather bored Election Bureau clerk who took his paperwork and filing fee.

We had a School Board challenge. Now to see where that led!

Friday, February 11, 1983

Ang and I both passed on dates tonight. I’d be with Jas tomorrow at the Valentine’s Dance, and Angie would be there, too, technically going stag. Paige was, of course, also going stag, technically. They’d go out to dinner together, but they wouldn’t even slow-dance together. They were a couple, after all, unlike Lexi and Paige at Halloween, and Lizzie and Janet had earned the right to break that barrier, if anyone was going to do it this year.

Our reasoning for passing was that we needed time to sit down and hash out some things we wanted to talk to Jane about. This was an ‘official’ meeting, so we might also cover some actual counseling issues, but ... yeah. Lines were very, very blurred between official counseling and time-traveler sounding-board/mentor/ethics adviser/sympathetic ear/whatever.

The long and the short of it was that we both thought we could ethically invest in medical companies and, later, start some low-level push towards improved medical records management. In addition, real estate, at least with careful boundaries on what we’d buy and how much we’d push, was fair game. Anything publicly traded (stocks, bonds, whatever) was also fair game. That included things like rare coins and the like, in theory, but, in practice, neither of us knew anything specific about them beyond the rarer, the better.

With a plan in place, we were ready for Jane. I was ready for the dance, too, of course.

Saturday, February 12, 1983

This was always going to be a complicated day. Not only was it HAAUG, but it was the Valentine’s Dance. And not only was it those things, but it was our meeting with Jane, and Jas’s birthday as well.

You get done what you can get done and let the chips fall where they may.

We skipped HAAUG, of course. There just wasn’t time to drive across town and back. That left March, May, and maybe June. We’d be at State for April’s HAAUG.

Might work, might not. Nothing lost in trying, but no guarantees, either. At this point, I felt like we had a chance even without more HAAUG encounters. In the worst case, I could simply cold-call Michael in January 1984 and tell him that someone had told me he might be looking for investors. I didn’t have to name names, and what exactly could he do? Accuse me of coming back from the future? There was a perfectly logical explanation for my knowing to ask. Totally wrong, but perfectly logical.

At that point, he could take me up on the offer or turn me down. Most likely, he’d turn me down, but even that, at the absolute worst I’d have annoyed him and he might not want anything to do with me in the future. He wasn’t likely to carry a grudge or go after me, not for simply offering to invest. I had plenty of other ways to make money that didn’t go through him, after all.

Angie and I arrived at Jasmine’s house at eleven-thirty as planned. Camille met us with hugs and cheek kisses.

“She’s getting ready. I don’t know why — she’s not wearing anything special for this — but, she is.”

Angie giggled. “She’s got to look great on her birthday!”

“But she always looks great,” I said.

Angie rolled her eyes. “First, you’re biased, and, second, you’re a guy.”

Camille nodded. “I’m biased, too, but your sister is correct. Obviously! But, I mean ... the standards of judging are different.”

“This is reminding me of a joke. A rather stereotypical joke, but a joke.”

“Do tell,” Camille said.

“It’s usually written. There are two columns. One is ‘The way to a woman’s heart.’ It includes flowers, chocolates, poetry, holding hands, candlelit dinners, and so forth. The second column is ‘The way to a man’s heart.’ It has two entries: ‘Bring beer’ and ‘Arrive naked.’”

Both of them laughed. Loudly.

“Stereotypical ... and correct, most of the time,” Camille said, once the laughter had died down.

“I haven’t actually tried that, of course,” Angie said, “but I think it would work. The man’s part, I mean.”

“Can’t say I’ve tried it on the receiving end, either,” I said. “Sounds plausible, though.”

“If there’s a guy that’s immune, it’s probably you,” Angie said.

Camille nodded. “It would depend on who, for both you and for Francis. Someone you knew and liked? Most likely a good plan. Anyone else? Skepticism or rejection.”

I chuckled. “You’re making me picture Cindy Baird. Skepticism is a mild term for how I’d feel.”

Angie giggled. “Oh, me, too!” She looked at Camille. “She was quite critical of Steve’s relationship being ‘open’, as well as many other things.”

Jasmine came out, wearing a flowery blue blouse and jeans. “What are we talking about?”

“The way to a man’s heart, and to a woman’s.”

“Very different answers, most of the time,” Jasmine said, giving me a hug and a kiss. “Though Steve is somewhere in between.”

“We were just agreeing on that, I believe,” Camille said.

From there we headed to the dining room. Camille already had the meal prepared, and it smelled delicious. Coq au vin, served with ratatouille and fresh baked bread. Wine, of course — another Vouvray, which suited me just fine.

Conversation flowed around the table, as it does. Camille and Francis were clearly checking as to whether we were still on the same page for college, and of course we were. They’d also heard about Angie’s new relationship and had some friendly questions, which got Angie blushing, but not badly.

Back in the day, with my ex-wife, we’d gotten into a joking discussion about this: that the husband is brother-in-law to the wife’s siblings, and vice versa, but the siblings have no relationship to the other’s spouse’s parents. Nevertheless, I imagined Angie would be an honorary daughter-in-law, at least, and very happy with the role.

Harmony, by itself, is not a reason to pick a life partner, but (having tried it the other way) lack of harmony is a damn good reason to not pick someone.

After we’d finished, and talked a bit more, Camille brought out a birthday cake with seventeen candles. The cake itself was red velvet, with a dark chocolate frosting that looked (and was, once I got to taste it) incredible.

We all sang ‘Happy Birthday’, and Jas blew out the candles. All of them! Hopefully, her wish would come true. She was looking at me, so my ego suggested her wish might be about me. If so ... good! I couldn’t ask; a wish shared will not come true, or so the superstition goes. At least, that’s how I’d heard it.

Jas and Camille both teased me about being with an ‘older woman.’ I made the point that I’d always been with older women. That was true, first life and this one. Angie didn’t count, of course, because we weren’t ‘together’ that way, and never would be.

I’d certainly dated younger women this time, but only once I was with Jasmine. Even then, Jess would’ve been the one who counted most as ‘dating’, and she’s older than I am, too.

I countered with the fact that, in general, men die younger than women, so it makes almost no sense for the guy to be older, anyway. Everyone got a laugh out of that.

After lunch, we headed off to Jane’s. Things were back to normal this time, meaning Mom drove us to the appointment again. She said she missed saying hi to Dr. Stanton, which sounded plausible. Of course, I figured the unsaid part was that she wanted a bit of confirmation that we were still ‘behaving’. That was mostly on the back burner, but it’d always be somewhat of a concern, I thought.

Perhaps we could’ve covered it up. I’m sure our behavior telegraphed that we were attracted to each other, and maybe we could’ve played that down. On the other hand, playing it down might’ve simply made Mom even more concerned, since odds were she’d see through it.

Ang went first this time, so I waited, reading my book while Mom flipped through some magazines. Over the visits, we’d occasionally tried to talk, but it felt weird to talk about anything of consequence in a psychologist’s waiting room, and small talk felt even more weird. So, we both quietly read and waited.

When Angie came out, she managed a quick look that I’m almost certain Mom didn’t see. It was ... not upset, but ... something. Instead of just touching hands, she gave mine a little squeeze. My body would’ve blocked Mom off from seeing it.

Jane smiled and ushered me back to her office. We hugged, then I settled into my chair.

She smiled again, then said, “Whatever your plans were for the hour, they’re somewhat on hold.”

I nodded. “Angie seemed to be trying to let me know something’s up.”

“Something is. Nothing bad, necessarily, but ... something, definitely. I received some mail this morning. From ‘S’, which we’re all pretty much certain is Sharon.”

“Well ... that certainly explains Angie’s look, I think.”