Chapter 8: Emily

I took a half-day off Friday at work and, after a quick stop in Arlington to change, headed north to Frederick before so much as stopping for lunch. I've always liked having lunch in new places, and figured I'd find a place once I'd escaped the Washington Exurbs.

It was, I found out, pretty hard to escape. Arguably, even Frederick was part of the mass of humanity surrounding the Nation's Capital. Oh, there was some countryside, some open space, between here and there. But not a lot.

I was almost inside the city limits of my destination before I found a place.

It was a nondescript family-run, non-franchise eatery (my favorite kind) and I sinfully ordered the fried chicken dinner. I was hoping for down-home cooking, lots of grease, and mashed potatoes and gravy. Not the sort of thing I was served at home. College had taught me a lot of bad habits.

It wasn't even 2 p.m. yet. I had told Dave to expect me around 4 or 5 p.m. That would mean I'd be arriving not very long before he was due to report to the ballpark for that night's game. There would have been just enough time to settle in, get introduced to the Famous Eddie Hooks, and freshen up a bit.

Freshening up didn't seem particularly necessary. It hadn't been a taxing drive. I imagined that some people might actually commute to work -- in Washington -- from places as far away as Frederick. It would be an insane thing to do, yes, but undoubtedly, some folks did it.

Now I was dangerously early and my fried chicken wasn't taking as long as I had expected, either to order or to consume. I decided to just call Dave on my cell and warn him I'd be a little early.

Like two hours early.

Why had I hurried up like this? Leaving work an hour early would have allowed me to make it in time for the game. Why take a half-day off?

The fact was, I was ridiculously eager to see David Hooks again. I'd spent a lot more time, in the past week, thinking about our brief time together in Prince William County than a single blind date should ever have merited.

I had taken an instant liking to this boy -- this man -- I still scarcely knew. What did I know about him, really? He was my age. He was an orphan, and was caring for his younger brother, Eddie. The brother, only 13 years old, was the real orphan, losing both parents while still a kid. He -- David, that is -- had a college education and, evidently, some dreams of post-grad study. Unusual, I thought, for a ballplayer.

But mostly, he wanted to be a ballplayer. He was at the base of a steep mountain -- just beginning a long, difficult climb upward to the Major Leagues. And he wasn't certain he would make it at all. Evidently, right now, he and Eddie were living hand-to-mouth, waiting for success to rescue them.

Where would he take me, tonight, after the game? It would be late. Frederick, Maryland, the state's second-largest city, was, in actuality, a pretty small town. Where would we go? What would we do?

Not a movie, surely. First of all, it would be too late for the movies -- even for the second feature. And we had just met. I didn't want to sit in a movie, where we couldn't even get to know each other better. Well, we'd have a late dinner, I supposed. When did ballplayers eat? Their games started at 7 p.m. Dave said he had to be at the ball park by 5 p.m. They must eat after their night games. They probably just snacked, before that.

Well, I guess I'd find out, soon enough.

When I called, Dave gave me the all-clear to come on by the house, and refreshed my instructions about the directions to get there. It wasn't too far from my lunch place, and he and a boy who had to be Eddie were sitting together on a porch swing, waiting, when I drove up.

Both of them came running before I was even out of the car.

"This is Eddie," Dave said, unnecessarily. "Eddie, this is Emily Anne... Emily Anne Shreve."

Eddie Hooks wasn't shy and retiring. I was trying to get out of the car, but his hand was through the open window, seeking mine. "Glad to meet'cha!" he said. "Boy, have we been cleaning house for you! You won't find a speck, anywhere!"

"It's true," Dave said. "Eddie did almost all of it. The team had me tied up, for part of our off-day even, and when I rushed home yesterday to help, Eddie already had everything under control."

"We're not helpless guys," Eddie offered. "We know how to keep a house clean. We even cook, a little bit."

"But don't worry, Dave said, "we don't intend to subject you to our cooking. We're going out tonight, after the game, and again for breakfast tomorrow. Ms. Washington has invited us to come by her place now -- before the game -- for a snack, and we're all four going to dinner after the game -- is that OK?... And she's making Sunday brunch for us tomorrow, at her place... OK?"

I motioned to them both that I'd really like to get out of the car, and they finally backed off, stopped talking, and allowed me to do so. I shook Eddie's hand, again, when I was upright, and popped the trunk so that Dave could get my suitcase. "All of that sounds fine," I said.

Ms. Washington turned out to be a fifty-something Black woman who lived in the adjoining apartment on the opposite side of Dave and Eddie's duplex. I barely had time to put my things away and register the fact that Dave's barren apartment was, indeed, sparkling clean before I was whisked next door to the Washington side of the house.

Coretta Washington was cordial and welcoming and soon we were all seated together around her dining room table, noshing on a variety of finger-foods that I understood was intended to hold me until our post-game restaurant dinner. Being less than an hour away from my fried chicken late lunch, I didn't eat much, but what little I sampled was choice.

Eddie, I noticed, consumed his share -- and the rest of mine -- and maybe part of Ms. Washington's share as well. Only David could held his own against Eddie's onslaught.

We talked about my life as a student, my summer job, my family, my this, my that. I tried to steer the conversation around so that I could find out something about my hosts, and about Ms. Washington, for that matter. But I was the guest, and they kept me talking about me, mostly.

Dave was kind-of staring at me, and I wondered if my lipstick was smeared, or something.

Eddie was exuberant, welcoming, easy to talk to. I almost instantly began to have very positive feelings for the boy. I silently compared him to my own family's crop of privileged adolescents -- my cousins in Northern Virginia, mostly. And my younger brother. Eddie seemed to me to be livelier, sweeter, and smarter and cuter than any of them. But then, I'd never been big fans of any of my cousins, and I suppose I was somewhat motivated to like Eddie Hooks.

Because I liked Davey -- David -- Hooks. "Admit it, girl," I told myself. "You have a serious case of the hots for this guy."

I did admit it to myself, too. Only, I also kept reminding myself that I barely knew him, and that, in all likelihood, something would happen along the way that would suddenly sour me on the infatuation. He'd make a sexist remark, or he'd say something nasty about Mexicans, or Arabs, or Jews, or whoever. Or he'd turn out to be a member of some off-brand religious sect, and start trying to indoctrinate me. Not for the first time, I thought of Tom Cruise and that young actress he'd managed to seduce, impregnate, and, eventually, I guess, marry. Had he actually married her? I wasn't sure. I'd lost track. Poor girl.

But, my God! What was she thinking?

Sweet Davey Hooks, with those incredible shoulders, and that muscular back, and the Huck Finn cowlick. It would probably turn out that he had feet of clay, too... Just like Tom Cruise, and all the other Tom Cruise clones I'd run into, so far in my romantic life. I'd just have to keep my legs crossed, forget about the shoulders and the back muscles, and the cowlick. And all the little endearing things that (so far) he had said and done.

And I'd have to forget about Eddie, too. He was just the Little Brother. However charming he was, it wasn't going to be Eddie I was contemplating hooking up with. It was the other Hooks. Hooking up with the Hookses, that's what I was contemplating.

I was'n in the habit of formulating mental pictures of myself, in bed with guys, this quickly after I had first met someone. Oh, my mental processes -- even on my best days -- weren't anything I'd want recorded and posted on the Internet. I didn't worry, or put any particular stock in, random salacious thoughts; I knew practically everybody had them. I thought anybody who didn't have them must not be wired very well. It was just human nature. Wasn't it? I thought so, anyway. So, sure, I frequently had mental images of myself, happily horizontal, with men I barely knew. My anthropology professor, a year ago, for example. A hunk, he was. And a Jesuit priest! Maybe I'd burn in hell for those fantasies, although I doubted it.