Chapter 11

It will come as no surprise to most of the readers that this is not only fiction but bald faced lies. The author has been known to stretch the truth past breaking. He is fully aware that Monster Millions is his own creation and does not exist in reality. He is also cognizant of the fact that this an alternate reality. The names might be real ... the people are not. If your name is in here ... it’s not you ... any of you.

“Yes,” I said. “Think you’re man enough?”

“Well, it is Friday,” Roger said.

“True ... we have the weekend.”

“Yes,” Roger grinned. “We’ll have whichever parent picks us up get some more.”

“Jumbos?” I asked.

“I suppose,” Roger said. “They’re a little tight.”

Her Other Car is a Broom was party and parcel of the conversation ... and offendedly speechless.

We had an audience ... we were the most accomplished dancers on the floor. Prople noticed and tended to keep in our vicinity. Roger is NOT known for anything but grades. He can Dance. A big plus in the bubbling stew of teenage romance is dance. One can imagine those moves in a horizontal position ... either lead or follow, top or bottom.

I am known to be in the competition for Valedictorian ... barring accidents one of us will have the second slot.

Since we were at the exit and confronted by the wicked witch of the school I was facing out. That meant my back pockets were facing in. Those few who ... for manners, religious affiliation, or shyness, had kept their eyes to their selves ... were exposed to the exposeure of the year. What ever illness I’d had, had really done a piece of work ... my ass was to die for.

We heard several, “I never’s” and quite a few slapped faces, along with, “Me ... you came with me,” and “holy shits!”

We forced our exit and, lo and behold, Roger’s daddy was parked at the curb, waiting to escort us to our rendezvous with Eros.

I must have looked shocked because he said, “You told Mrs. Blankenship three dances. What took so long?”

Miss Grundy ... not her name ... her attitude followed us out. She was determined.

“Oh my God ... you’re still here?” Mr. Blankenship said.

“Othello Blankenship!” the door guard said, “I might have known!”

The ‘Othello’ drew my eye ... and both ears.

Directly in response to my look, he said, “Otto. Please forget that other name.”

I still looked.

He blinked, toed the sidewalk as if it were a dirt lane and said, like a six year old would, “Mother was a Shakespearean Classicist. I’ll not mention my sibling’s names ... they would never forgive me.”

The Other Car is my Broom almost spit on his shoe, “You KNOW!?! You know and APPROVE?” She gave furiously to thought. A lightbulb came on ... seriously ... someone turned on the outside lights ... Grundy’s own light flashed and she said, “Does Desdemona know...”. A thought of remembrance fled briefly...”ah yes ... She does.”

Now I know the Senior Blankenship’s nick-names ... Desi and Otto.

There was a pause... “Barbara ... yes ... that was her name ... what ever happened to Barbara?”

Roger said, “Auntie Babs? She visits ... at least once a month.”

And THEN ... Mrs. Grundy let the cat out of the bag. All these years, Roger thought Auntie Babs was a a near relative ... No. Barbara Sweagle was the third party of the only high school ménage à trois in our neck of the woods ... that people mostly knew existed ... mostly. There may have been others but Desi, Otto and Babs were unreasonably visible. Throughout high school and college they were inseparable. Even today they were ‘close.’ They had been friends since the first grade when Otto rescued the girls from the attentions of a pair of older boys.

Nobody thought a thing about it until puberty struck. Then it was noticed and questioned by ‘them’ who find the business of others to be ‘their’ business. This involved much whispering and dithering behind palms.

The three danced together, went to the movies together, the horse drawn hay rides so prevelent around Halloween found the trio under the same blanket. The three ice-skated at the park, sledded the golfcourse hills in the winter, and camped and hiked together in the summer.

One fine spring Monday at school the girls were radiant and Otto was ‘bushed.’ Those who had experienced the same condition ‘knew.’ To this day the girls are happiest when they were ‘with’ Otto.

Mrs. Grundy turned to Roger, “It’s all of a piece,” she said. “Roger ... your mother might possibly have been Barbara Sweagle.”

Othello Blankenship looked guilty.