Chapter 4: Fall 1988-3

I danced once with Ann Hastings.

They came in late and made a handsome couple although I didn't pay much attention to Richard, how burned his skin looked or how he was dressed. She was wearing a white dress with a full, flowing skirt. The top covered her breasts, secured at the back of her neck. Her shoulders, arms and much of her back were uncovered. As I mentioned, she made the couple handsome.

She acknowledged my presence, not with a smile or by moving her lips with a silent, 'hello' but with her eyes. Our stare was interrupted by Richard, who touched her on the arm and nodded his head to a table to the rear of where Doctor and Mrs. Patrick were seated.

I was sitting with some of the other young volunteers recruited by Mrs. Patrick. We had one thing in common, gratitude to Marie Patrick for her trademark letters of recommendation. I was grateful that Ann and her friend were hidden. No matter how I strained my neck they were out of view. I didn't want to see her. It was just too painful to watch her look at him, smile and answer his questions.

The wine glasses, in front of us, were picked up by waiters at the same time our plates of food were delivered. Someone attempted a joke, saying it would be legal for us to drink alcohol in three years. A five-piece orchestra began to play and a male vocalist sang ballads from sometime in the distant past. I ate some of the turkey and moved everything else around on my plate, deciding I wasn't hungry. Mrs. Patrick came to our table, praising her young volunteers and reproaching us for not dancing.

"Would you care to dance?" I asked the girl sitting across the table from me. Others from our table were getting up to dance.

"I don't think so," she said without making an excuse or really looking at me. This was the first time I had ever been refused. Apparently she didn't attend a girl's finishing school. The Speedwell girls were taught to accept any cadets' offer to dance, walk to the dance floor with him and ask him to escort her back to her place if she changed her mind about dancing with him.

I studied the girl for a few seconds before turning to look at the dance floor. Mrs. Patrick and her husband were dancing. I wondered how she did it. She had been on the move since I arrived, energetically giving directions, never sitting down. I watched her look up at her husband, put her head on his shoulder and close her eyes. Wouldn't it be funny if she fell asleep? I must have been smiling to myself when I turned back to look across the table again. Perhaps the girl had changed her mind.

Something white caught my attention. With Mrs. Patrick and her husband out of the way my eyes had a clear shot at Ann Hastings. And, she was looking back at me. I had to remind myself to breathe as I lifted the napkin from my lap and deposited it on the table. I gauged the distance, twenty steps. You can make it, I told myself. Eighteen steps, our eyes were locked. Sixteen steps, she removed the napkin from her lap. Fourteen steps, she placed the napkin on the table. Twelve steps, she blinked her eyes. Ten steps, I blinked my eyes. Eight steps, our eyes were fixed. Six steps, she smiled. Four steps, I smiled back. Two steps, my mind went blank. "Would you do me the honor ... would you... ?"

She stood and put her hand in mine. We walked to the dance floor, her small hand warm in mine.

My right hand was open on her back, my thumb touching bare skin. We made small talk as we moved to the music. "You did a good job today." "No, you did a good job." "It was fun, wasn't it?" "Yes, I had a good time." My thumb moved on her skin, making her shiver. I shivered too. The music stopped playing. We stopped moving. She blinked her eyes. I blinked mine.

"It's good to see you two enjoying yourselves." It was Mrs. Patrick; she hadn't gone to sleep after all.

Ann turned her head to look at Mrs. Patrick and I reluctantly did the same. She was saying something about what a success the day had been, how many dollars we had taken in and how much she appreciated everyone's participation. I suddenly realized that Ann's hand was in mine and my right arm was still around her waist. My thumb moved against her bare skin.

The music began to play, Mrs. Patrick turned to her husband and the vocalist sang, My Funny Valentine. I'll swear I didn't pull Ann to me; she came on her own. I vowed to buy every rendition of My Funny Valentine that existed and make it my all time favorite song. My hand was flat against the bare skin of her back and her forehead rested against my chin. I felt her hand grip mine and I heard her sigh. I cursed the orchestra and the vocalist for ending the song after what seemed like thirty seconds.

"Thank you," she said, pulling away and smiling at me to indicate our dance was over. I escorted her back to her table. Richard stood and helped her with her chair. I thanked her for dancing with me, nodded to Richard and left without looking back. I was in my car and driving home before I remembered that I had not said goodnight to Mrs. Patrick. Oh well, I would say something to her the next day. She would understand, wouldn't she?

Very few words were exchanged between us the next day. Ann was again dressed in white, a sleeveless blouse and below-the-knee pants. Ann delivered the only meaningful sentences that passed between us at about eleven o'clock on Sunday morning. "Sammy, I think you should know. I'm meeting his children next weekend."

I was devastated. She had squeezed my hand. I had felt her forehead next to my chin. I had heard her sigh. Now she was telling me she was going to meet his kids. We didn't talk. We didn't even look at each other until Mrs. Patrick came to us leading a young woman. "Sammy, this is Karen Parker. You play tennis, don't you? I know you do. Karen's partner had to leave early. Karen this is Sammy Oldham. He plays. I know he does. Ann, you can get by alone, can't you? If not, I'll get someone to help you."

We looked at Ann. Her eyes were on me. She nodded.

"I have an extra racket. Do you have shoes?" Karen Parker was asking me. I nodded, wondering why all the rush.

"Hurry, get your shoes. My match is in five minutes. If we don't make it I'll be scratched from the tournament."

I looked at Ann once more before I took off running toward my car. I was surprised to see Karen Parker running along side me. She was tall, dressed in white, white shoes and a short white skirt. She was carrying a racket pouch and she could run. God, could she run.

I knew I had shoes in my car and I suspected there was a racket there also. I opened the trunk and surveyed its contents. Karen was right beside me, moving my golf clubs, finding a shoe, telling me to put it on, finding a tennis racket, finding the other shoe, handing it to me and telling me to put it on.

"What are you looking for? You're wasting time," she said.

"Shorts," I said. She lifted my golf bag for the second time and found a pair of shorts suitable for tennis. Without giving a thought that people may be watching I stripped off my pants, threw them in the trunk, put on the shorts and closed the trunk. She handed me my racket and we started to run again.

"I'll play the net when the female serves. You play up front when the male serves. If I'm near the ball you head the other way and let me have it. Otherwise I'll tell you if I want you to try for it. Got it?"

I was running at top speed and she was keeping up with me. "What's so funny? What are you laughing at?" she asked.

"You remind me of a friend," I said, thinking of how Alice had talked the first time we'd played together.

Karen's name was being announced when we arrived at the courts. Our opponent was an older couple. "If you get a chance knock it down her throat," Karen said to me.

"Lob it over his head. He has a trick knee," she said when we were up by three games to zip. "Let's put them away."

I tried to do everything she ask of me, running the old couple all over the court and testing to see if the man really did have a trick knee. He did. When we shook hands at mid-court our opponents congratulated us and staggered to the sidelines. Karen put her arm around me and pulled me in the other direction. "This next pair will be tougher, but we can handle them."

At three P.N. we were ahead, three games to one. I looked over and saw Mrs. Ford, Josh and Jeannie watching us. "That's my ride. I've got to go," I said to Karen.

"You're not going anywhere," she said. "We can win this match."

"Didn't Mrs. Patrick tell you I have to leave at three?"

"It's your serve," Karen said. I looked at Mrs. Ford and shrugged. Then I promptly lost the next game.

"I've really got to go," I said.

"It's okay Sammy. We're up three to two. We'll win this one," Karen said, disregarding my plea.

We won the next two games and lost the third one. "We're still good. One more game and we'll win the match," Karen said.

I threw up my arms and told Mrs. Ford to go without me. "I'll drive my own car and have Ned come after it," I said. She offered to wait a few more minutes but I insisted they leave. Josh wished me luck and he and Jeannie followed his mother to the car.

We won the match. "Hang in there Sammy," Karen said. I told her I had to get to school before roll call. She promised me that we would take care of the next couple in plenty of time for me to get to school on time.

We lost, six to four and I felt Karen's breasts push against my chest when she hugged me. "You're a real gamer. They've been winning this tournament for the past three years. I knew we didn't have a chance against them but you didn't."

"What time is it?" I asked.

Karen found someone with a watch who said it was ten past five. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"My keys were in my pants pocket. I must have locked them in the trunk," I said. Demerits, restriction to quarters and the loss of the Colonel's regard for me were flowing through my mind.

Karen volunteered to drive me to school. "Was that your school uniform I saw hanging in your car?" she asked as she changed gears.

"Yes but I have another one in my locker," I said, considering if my spare pair of shoes would pass inspection.

"You didn't lock the keys to your locker in the car trunk by any chance?" She asked, looking like she was holding her breath.

"It's a combination lock. I'll be fine if we make it on time."

"We will," she assured me as she changed gears again. We were riding in a small Triumph with the top down.

We shouted to each other to be heard above the wind and the roar of the engine. I learned that she was the single mother of a six-year-old son and she taught physical education at a local high school. I told her that her competitive tennis nature reminded me of Alice, but I didn't say anything about the similarity between Karen and Ann, also a single mother of a six-year-old son. I was trying to forget I had ever met Ann.

She learned things about me too; that I was a senior at Cromwell Military Academy, that I played football and that I liked to fuck. I didn't tell her the part about liking to fuck. It was obvious from the way I looked at her legs. The wind blew her short tennis skirt up and I could see her pale blue tights. After a while she gave up trying to keep the skirt in place and let the wind take it.

Karen gave me her telephone number, saying she would keep my tennis racket until we could get together. "Who knows? Maybe we'll play again sometime," she said.

Those looking down into the open car from their windows saw the long legged female pull my head to her for a short but enjoyable kiss, say something to me and roar off as soon as I closed the passenger side door.

"What did she say to you?" Spence asked me later.

"She said I was the best fuck she ever had," I said. I was just coming down from the high, the tennis tournament, the ride back to school, getting Karen's telephone number and being pulled to her for the kiss.

"She didn't say that," Spence said, like he knew I was lying.

"No, she didn't," I confessed, refusing to tell him what she had actually said. "Thanks for everything, Sammy."

I called Ned and told him about locking my keys in the car. He said the car was back in the garage and my keys were in my room. Mrs. Patrick had told Mr. Oldham about me playing in the tournament. He had to go home to get the spare set of keys, but that was minor compared to my almost being late for Sunday evening formation. Ned laughed at my description of the ride with Karen Parker. "She kissed me goodbye," I boasted.

"Cool, I'll let you tell Suzanne about that," he laughed. He said he would pick me up after the game on Friday.

"There's a dance. Will it be okay if I hang around," I asked and he told me to take my time.

Karen Parker was still on my mind during the bus ride to Bancroft Prep. The way she ordered me around on the court pissed me off, but the memory of those legs offset any resentment I felt. What bothered me was that I couldn't shake the thought of Ann meeting Richard's children. Was she serious about him? I was glad I had Karen's legs to bump the image of Ann and Richard together. The problem was that it wasn't working. Karen's legs wouldn't bump the feel of my thumb moving on Ann's back. I couldn't make the feel of her in my arms go away.

We were behind, seventeen to six at halftime. Adam Corning gave a short rousing speech and then I got up to speak. I knew I only had seconds to get my point across, but I couldn't think of anything to say. I looked around the room, took a whiff of the stale sweat-laden air and it came to me. "I feel like shit because of the way I played the first half. I wouldn't wish that feeling on any of you. I hope that when this game is over I'm feeling better about the way I played and I hope all of you feel the same."