Chapter 28: Dueling

Friday, February 8, 1974

It had taken me five years, three months, and three days to get to this point. Everything I had done since I had recycled was aimed at being here, at this point in my life. Nothing else was important. Nothing else mattered. No matter what had changed in my life, I knew one thing. I had met Marilyn Lefleur at the first party spring semester freshman year at a Kegs party at RPI. That was a constant. Up until that point, we had never had any contact, not even in the slightest. She came to the party, we met, we fell in love, end of story.

Everything I had done in the last five years was done with the sole purpose of maximizing my chances of being at this party and meeting her again. I had come back to RPI to be here. I had joined ROTC, and had hung around the pool hall, all so that the Kegs brothers would notice me and invite me over (I had originally been found playing pool.) I had kissed every ass possible so that they would invite me to join, just so I could be here, tonight, at this party. No matter what the price would be, I had decided to pay it. If that meant leaving my family or joining the Army, so be it. I had to be here, tonight, in the formal room, to meet Marilyn. Nothing else mattered.

I just stared at her. She was so beautiful to me as to take my breath away. Okay, to be absolutely fair about it, Marilyn wasn’t, and had never been the most beautiful girl on the planet, not in any objective sense. Jeana, for instance, was probably the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and if she had been half a foot taller would have been a shoo-in for any number of fashion or men’s magazines. Marilyn was never quite in that league.

That’s not to say she wasn’t good looking. She was. I remember clearly once when Maggie was looking through some old pictures of us and she said, in the most delightfully tactless way, “Wow, Mom, you used to be hot! What happened?” While I tried to keep from laughing, Marilyn looked daggers at Maggie and asked me if she was allowed to kill her. Of course, the best response was when I told Marilyn she was still hot, but now it came in flashes. That got her laughing so hard she snorted milk out her nose!

At eighteen, Marilyn was definitely hot! She wasn’t all that tall, maybe 5’4”, with a nicely curvy build, large B or small C cup, and a wickedly round and interesting rear. She had a round face, with a perky upturned ski lift sort of nose, big brown eyes, and masses of curly chocolate brown hair that fell in ringlets past her shoulders. She was dressed in jeans so tight it made you want to watch her ass and cry, a tight red and white gingham shirt, and ugly flat shoes.

She was standing there, looking at me, with a shy smile on her face, watching me as I stood there stupidly, my jaw dropping, with a plastic cup of punch in one hand and a ladle in the other. I just stood there and stared at her. I had just spent over five years devoting myself to this moment, and I couldn’t even speak. She was actually here!

She looked at me, and then looked at the cup of punch in my hand, and then glanced over at Marty, before looking back at me. The next thing I knew, Marty slapped me from behind my head. “Wake up, dopey!”

That woke me up. I snapped out of it, looked at him, and then turned back to Marilyn, still standing there. It was time to speak. “Huh?”

Marty muttered under his breath. Marilyn said, “Can I have some of that punch?”

“It’s a mai tai,” I replied.

“Okay, can I have some mai tai?”

Marty smacked me again. “Carl, you are beyond hopeless. Give the lady a drink, and then go around the table and talk to her. You’re acting like you’ve never seen a girl before! Jeesh!”

I must have turned about three shades of purple as I blushed, and Marilyn laughed loudly. I grinned and shook my head. I handed her the cup of mai tai, and said, “You are absolutely right!” I poured myself a drink, and before Marilyn could escape, I was around the table at her side. “I really want to apologize. I’m normally not like that, but you are just so pretty, you took my breath away!” It was Marilyn’s turn to blush. She wasn’t wearing any makeup other than some light lip gloss, but that was always her style. “I have to ask. Who are you?”

She blushed again and smiled. “I’m Marilyn. Marilyn Lefleur. Who are you?”

I just couldn’t help myself. I gave her a big shit-eating grin and said, “Oh, darling, I am your Daddy’s worst nightmare!”

She started at that, and then burst out laughing. “Oh really? That’s pretty big talk from a guy who couldn’t even say hello a minute ago!”

I gave her a sheepish smile and shrugged. “It’s like I said, you took my breath away.”

“So, who are you really, and what makes you my father’s worst nightmare?” she asked, smiling.

“Well, I’m Carl, Carl Buckman, and as for your father, well, I can guarantee that no father alive wants a boy, any boy, looking at his little girl like I’m looking at you!”

“And just how are you looking at me?” she asked teasingly.

“Not like a little girl!”

“That’s still awfully big talk for a guy who was about to drool into the punch bowl!”

“Speaking of which...” I set my cup down and took hers from her hand, and then refilled it from the punch bowl. Then I grabbed my cup and took her free hand in mine. “Let’s go downstairs. Do you dance?” I didn’t give her a chance to answer, but simply tugged lightly and she followed me, laughing at me the entire way.

Once down in the basement, we drained our mai tais and started dancing together. It was mostly classic Seventies rock and roll, the good stuff, with some Southern rock thrown in, which I always enjoyed. When Jerry Masters, a senior and our DJ, switched to Stairway To Heaven, Marilyn didn’t even hesitate when I took her in my arms and held her against me. She simply sighed and laid her head against my chest as we swayed in time to the music. At the end of the song, I held onto her and lowered my face to hers. It was a first kiss, all over again, and went just fine!

.38 Special came on next, and we started dancing faster, and then Mike Ghormley, a sophomore, came up and tried to cut in. He was a little guy, maybe a couple inches shorter than me and twenty pounds lighter, and he was already drunk off his ass. “I’m cutting in!” he announced.

I stared at him in amusement, although Marilyn looked nervous. “Ghormley, you’re drunk!”

“But I want to dance!”

It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. I just smiled at Marilyn. “Do you want to dance with him?”

“I want to dance with you!” she laughed back.

“Sorry, Ghormley.” We pulled away from him and finished the dance. By the time the song ended I was sweating and not just because the basement was like a furnace. “I think I need some air.”

“Good idea!” she said with a nod. She led the way, holding my hand, and dragged me up the stairs. By now the front doors to the porch were wide open, letting the cold February air into the house and cooling things off. We went back into the formal room, and I moved to get Marilyn another mai tai.

Who would already be standing at the table but Mike Ghormley? As soon as he saw us, his face lit up. “Now we can dance!” he announced.

I looked over at Marty Adrianopolis, still on duty behind the bar. “How many of these has he had?”

He grinned back. “More than enough.”

“Mike, the lady doesn’t want to dance with you,” I said.

He gave me the drunk-and-puzzled look. Mike was a nice enough guy when he was sober, but he had a major superiority problem. As a sophomore, he was automatically superior to all freshmen, and therefore could order them around. I remembered that this went right on through college; as a junior he would boss around the sophomores and freshmen, as a senior, juniors would be added to the list. We ignored him when he was drinking. “But I want to dance with her!”

Marty was starting to look concerned. “Ghormley, you’re drunk!” I said.

That got him angry! “Take that back!” I just rolled my eyes. “Take it back, I said!”

“Or what? Are you planning on fighting me?” I looked over at Marilyn, who was starting to get nervous. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to fight,” I whispered.

“YES! I’m challenging you!” By now half the room was staring and openly laughing at him, and Marty was inching around the table preparatory to grabbing him.

Suddenly I had an idea. I motioned for Marty to cool it, and said, “What? Like a duel?”

“Yes! I am challenging you to a duel!”

Marty slapped his head in disbelief. I smiled at Marilyn. “Ever had two men fight a duel over you before?”

“God, no!”

“Someday you’ll be able to tell your grandchildren about this.”

“Spare me!” Still, she smiled at me.

I turned back to Ghormley. “Okay, I accept the challenge. I get to choose weapons.” Ghormley was looking very superior now. I glanced behind the bar and found everything I needed. I reached out and grabbed Joe Bradley, my fellow pledge, who was watching this all with considerable interest. Pulling him closer, I said, “Joe will be my second.” I leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Run off to the kitchen and bring back the matches.” He looked at me curiously, but I repeated my instructions, and he ran off.

“Shots at two paces!” I announced. Ghormley looked confused at that. I smiled at Marty. “Hand me two identical shot glasses and that bottle of Southern Comfort.”

He shrugged. “It’s going on your bar bill.”

I set the two glasses up one at each end of the table we were using as a bar, and then filled each one to the very brim with the liquor. Ghormley moved to grab his, but I waved him off. “Wait! Wait! We’re not ready yet!” Bradley handed me a box of wooden kitchen matches, and everybody stared. I lit a match, and before anybody knew what I was doing, I held it to the lip of Ghormley’s shot glass. The Southern Comfort began burning with a faint blue flame. I quickly lit my glass. I stepped up to the bar. “On the count of three!” Both Marty and Ghormley stared at me in disbelief, although Marty had a big smile on his face. “One! Two!...”

By now everybody watching was chanting along. “THREE!”

I grabbed my shot glass and lifted it up to my lips and swallowed it down, not even pausing to think or look at it. Ghormley was slower, and nervous. He hesitated as he brought it up to his face, and then he started worrying about his mustache, which was big and blonde and of which he was quite proud. He waited just long enough for the shot glass to get too hot to hold. He quickly set it down and started flapping his hand around. “Jesus Christ!”

I grabbed his still burning shot glass, brought it to my lips and poured it straight down, and then slammed the shot glass victoriously down to the table. Joe Bradley grabbed my hand and lifted it up. “The winner!”

I preened for a moment, and then grabbed Marilyn. I lifted her up and gave her a good hard kiss. She laughed and kissed me back.

Ghormley stared at us in disbelief. Around us people were laughing and lining up to do their own flaming shots. Marty was simply lining them up while Joe Bradley lit matches. Marty laughed at me. “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Crazy about her!” I said, pointing at Marilyn. She laughed and I spun her around. “I’m crazy about you!”

Okay, by now, with two shots of Southern Comfort on top of the mai tais, I was officially lit myself. Marilyn refused to have one herself, so she took her punch and we wandered out of the room and went out on the porch to cool off. The brisk air felt good. Several brothers and pledges came out and congratulated me on my victory. Ghormley even came out and stared at us in total disbelief. How dare a mere pledge show him up like that!

When we started to get chilly, we went back inside. That set up a round robin sort of motion - drink, dance, cool off. Around midnight or so, we wandered into the living room and sank down onto the only couch not in use. I leaned against the arm of the couch and Marilyn lay half on top of me and we began kissing.

Light was just starting to peep into the windows when I woke up. I had a warm and familiar weight on my chest, and when I cracked open an eyelid, I noticed the top of a head with curly chocolate brown hair resting on my chest. Oh, shit! We had fallen asleep on the couch, and Marilyn’s friends had left her here. I was going to have to get her home.

I was also going to have to pee. My bladder felt like it was going to burst. I tried to slide out from under Marilyn without waking her, and mostly succeeded. She murmured sleepily and went back to sleep on the couch. I wandered down the hall and used the bathroom off the kitchen. Christ, but I must have pissed for half an hour in there, and it sounded like Niagara Falls! Afterwards I looked in the mirror and was sorry I did so. I looked like a poor grade of refuse. I went into the dining room where we had set up the coat racks and found Marilyn’s and my coat still hanging, although my hat was on the floor in the corner. I retrieved my car keys and headed outside.

I popped the trunk and pulled out a large duffel bag I kept in the back. This was one of my two emergency kits. Us Boy Scouts have a saying about being prepared. I kept two kits in the trunk of every car I’ve ever owned. The first is a toolbox and it’s filled with flares, jumper cables, a first aid kit, and the like. The second is a duffel bag with a complete second set of clothing, an old snowmobile suit, and an old toilet kit. If I got stranded somewhere I was going to survive, and over the years I’ve needed most of the stuff, even if only once.

The duffel bag went with me back to the living room, where I found Marilyn stirring to life and looking horrified. Marilyn was very much a small-town girl, a ‘good girl’, who didn’t do these sorts of things. “I’m back,” I said as I came back in. “I didn’t leave you!”

“Oh my God! I can’t believe this!” she stammered.

I smiled at her. “Let’s get you cleaned up and get you home.” I sorted through my duffel bag and pulled out my toilet kit. Inside I found two toothbrushes, one still in its original packaging, and an old tube of toothpaste. I grabbed them and walked over to her and held my hand out to her. She nervously took my hand and climbed to her feet.

“I can’t believe I did this!” she repeated.

“Did what? Fall asleep on a couch? That’s no crime.” I looked her over and noticed a big stain on her shirt. I vaguely remembered her spilling her mai tai late in the evening. “I think you need a new shirt.” I dug down through the duffel bag and pulled out a shirt.

That didn’t help. Marilyn looked at me in terror. “I can’t believe this.”

I set everything down and cupped her face in my hands gently. “Marilyn, nothing happened last night. You’re fine. Nothing happened. You fell asleep on the couch with me. That’s all. Now, can you calm down?”

She searched my face. “Nothing happened?”

“Nothing! I promise!” I let go and grabbed the shirt and toiletries, and then led her back towards the bathroom. “Now, go in there and get cleaned up.” Before she could close the door, I squeezed out some toothpaste on the old toothbrush, and wandered off to the kitchen. I cleaned myself up as best I could without a mirror. I even dropped my trousers and tucked my shirttails back in. I found a mirror in the living room and combed my hair.

Marilyn took longer, but when she came out of the bathroom, she was wearing my old shirt, which was rather long on her (although she filled out the front nicely) and she seemed a lot calmer. I suspect that she used the toilet and figured out her virtue was still intact. Yes, I knew from way back when, my once (and future, please, dear God, my future!) wife was still a virgin when we met. She smiled sheepishly and then looked away. “This is so embarrassing.”

I laughed. “Why? You didn’t do anything wrong. Think positively! Think of the story you’ll be able to tell your roommates when you get back.” I took my toilet kit and tossed it back into the duffel bag and zipped it back up.

“Oh God! What will they think?”

“Are you kidding? They’re all going to be jealous!” I helped her into her coat, and then pulled mine on. Marilyn eyed me curiously when I picked my hat up off the floor and dusted it off. I set it at an appropriately jaunty angle and grinned. “Come on. Let’s get you some breakfast and back home.” I grabbed the duffel bag and my car keys and headed out through the kitchen, with Marilyn in tow.

She was very quiet on the ride, and by the time we crossed the Hoosick Street Bridge, I glanced over at her and laughed. Marilyn always had the most amazing ability to fall asleep anywhere, anytime, within seconds of closing her eyes. Now she was sitting there, upright, with her head tilted back, her eyes closed, and softly snoring. I had seen her do this countless times before. I just chuckled to myself and shook my head. I drove down I-787 to Albany, switched to I-90 for a mile, and got off on Route 9. From there I went down to Central Avenue and drove west to Jack’s Diner.

Marilyn woke up as I pulled into the parking lot. “Where are we? This isn’t Saint Rose.”

“Even better. This is Jack’s Diner. We need to get some food in you,” I answered.

“I don’t know. I should be getting back...”

I simply parked and turned off the ignition, pocketing the key. “Marilyn, my dear, you worry way too much! Life will seem much better once we get a nice hot breakfast inside you.” I opened the door and climbed out. Marilyn slowly climbed out and followed me inside cautiously. Once inside the door, she discovered we were at a diner, and not at a roadhouse where she was about to be abducted by white slavers.

A hostess promptly settled us at a booth. “Can I get you kids some coffee?” she asked.

Marilyn shyly nodded to me. I just rolled my eyes in amusement. “The lady will have some coffee, and I’ll have some tea.”

“Hot tea?”

“Please.”

“Coming right up.” She gave us a couple of menus and wandered off towards the kitchen.

I gave Marilyn my best smile. “You need to stop worrying. Nothing happened last night, and nobody will care about where you were. Hell, tell them the truth. They’ll all be jealous!”

Her eyes widened at that. “No way!”

“Oh yeah! Tell them the truth. You went to a party, where two men fell for you and fought a duel over you. The tall, dark, and handsome one was the winner, and you ended up sleeping with him, and then this morning you wore his clothes home. They will be stark raving mad with jealousy!”

“That’s not what happened!”

“Really? Tell me one thing I said that wasn’t true.”

It was amusing to watch Marilyn squawking without making a sound. She finally settled on, “But that was different!”

“Tell it my way. They’ll be so jealous of you.”

She smiled at that, and then slowly started to giggle. “You’re not tall, dark, and handsome.”

“Well, I’m tall-er. That should count for something.”

“Is that the story you’re going to tell?”

I gave her a big grin at that. “Oh, absolutely! This gets me in the He-Man Hall of Fame for sure!”

The waitress brought our coffee and tea, and took our orders, even though we really hadn’t even glanced at the menus. Still, every diner in America has some form of special covering two eggs any style, bacon or sausage, toast, juice, and potatoes. Marilyn ordered up hers sunny side up, wheat toast, bacon, skipped the hash browns, and had orange juice. She always did. I did what I always did, and ordered over easy, bacon, white toast, hash browns, and tomato juice. What really surprised Marilyn was when I ordered Tabasco sauce. She stared at me when I made a Virgin Mary with Tabasco, salt, and pepper.

“That looks awful!”

“Here, try it.” I slid the glass across the table to her.

She looked at it dubiously but sampled it. Her face wrinkled up and she pushed it away. “That just ruins perfectly good tomato juice.”

I tossed in a few more drops of Tabasco and stirred that in. It was definitely spicy. “Gets your heart started in the morning!”

She looked around the diner. “Exactly where are we?”

“I told you, Jack’s Diner. It’s pretty much a landmark in Albany. We’re on Central Avenue. We’re only a mile, if that, from Saint Rose. You could walk home if you wanted, but don’t, I’ll drive you.”

“I never even noticed. You have your own car?”

I pointed at the Galaxie out the window. “The Galaxie out there. You?”

She shook her head. “I have one at home, but my folks wouldn’t let me bring it.”

I got her to open up and start talking, first about her car, and then about her family. She calmed down when she talked about them, although I teased her by saying that she probably shouldn’t tell the story about the duel and sleeping with me to them. That got her laughing so hard she almost snorted her juice out her nose. Once our breakfasts were brought out, she realized just how hungry she was, and polished it off totally, and then started nibbling on my hash browns. I smiled and asked if she wanted seconds, and she blushed at that.

Afterwards, as we sat there sipping a second round of coffee and tea, she said, “Thank you for breakfast.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I always buy breakfast for the women I sleep with. It’s the least I can do.” Marilyn turned bright red but stopped smiling. I reached out and touched her hand. “That was a joke, honey.”

She nodded without looking at me. Finally, she said, “And does that happen often?”

It was my turn to look startled. “What the sleeping part or the breakfast part?” Marilyn didn’t answer that, but just looked out the window. I took my time before answering, but I reached over and took her hand. She looked at me nervously. “I think I know what you’re asking. It’s okay to ask me.”

“Well...”

I gave her a soft smile. “First off, I have never had a girl fall asleep in my arms and wake up that way in the morning. That’s a first for me, too. I kind of liked it, though. I think we need to try that again.” Her eyes widened at that. I just patted her hand. “Marilyn, you are safe with me. I would never hurt you. No matter what happens, I will never hurt you. If the question is whether I still have my innocence left, well, the answer is not for a long, long time. If the question is if yours is safe with me, the answer is yes. You can trust me. I will never hurt you.”

She seemed to relax at that. “I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Never thought you were.”

“But you’re that kind of guy!” she said with a certain degree of amusement.

“Never said I wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure if I trust you.”