Chapter 2: The Next Step

July 1973

Jim liked to get a fix in his minds eye how events would go. It helped him make sure that they always went just right.

Jim watched Hildy drive out of the parking lot and turn onto the main road. He started his own car and put it in gear. Soon he was headed home, to his parents' house, which was in the opposite direction, where he stayed during his summers and school vacations.

It was nearly midnight, so his parents wouldn't be up waiting for him, which Jim considered to be a good thing. For, no matter whether he ended up judging the night's events good or bad, a failure or a near-success, he knew either of his parents would consider them bad. He had a lot to think about.

"Why didn't I just go for it when I had the chance?"

He couldn't answer. Perhaps it was his fear of making Hildy pregnant and all the trouble that would bring him–and her. But he reminded himself that he didn't feel quite right before the subject even came up at the very end. It just didn't feel like it was supposed to feel. He thought that she was experienced. He was wrong about that, for she told him that she had never done anything like that, either.

"She has a problem, too."

But why was a problem for girls not considered a problem for them like it was for young men like him? Young women often sought to preserve their problem, while guys like Jim were trying to get rid of it from the moment they could get their hands on a Playboy magazine.

"Not like a James Bond movie."

He wondered why Bond Girls never worried about getting pregnant, and why James Bond never had to do it squeezed into the front seat of a beat up Plymouth wagon.

"I have to plan ahead better."

At least, he thought, he should have a few condoms ready. He thought again and wondered how he would screw up the courage to take the pharmacist aside and ask him to look under the counter for his supply of Trojans. He would have to work on that later, and whether to get the red or blue pack—because the pharmacist would be sure to ask.

As he turned into his parents' neighborhood he asked himself about Hildy.

"I wonder what she thinks about what happened tonight," he asked out loud.

He had no idea what the answer might be. Perhaps she had unanswered questions, too. As he thought and remembered he recalled that Hildy would have gone along with whatever Jim wanted to do even though it was clear that she was hardly in the throes of passion, like a Bond Girl would have been.

"And then, she told me that she had never done it, either."

Didn't girls want their first time to be just right, a sweet memory to pack away in their hope chests? Why would Hildy be willing to give all that up, just for a quickie in a station wagon to help Jim out of his problem?

"Why did she go along with it when she didn't really want to?" was all he could answer, and then realized that his answer was a question.

He was in his parents' driveway. He shut off the motor and sat behind the wheel for a minute thinking.

"I've got to understand this better. I've got to understand Hildy better."

He'd made a date with Hildy for Saturday. Maybe he would find out more then—if Hildy didn't call it off.

The next morning was Thursday and Jim drew an easy job for the day. Frank Paternico's helper had the day off and Jim was assigned to take his place.

Frank drove a dump truck for the Gas Line Department. He delivered loads of gravel, blacktop and soil, as well as other supplies to job sites for the crews. All Jim had to do was ride along in the truck and help load and unload the materials. Compared to eight hours of digging, it was easy work. It was his lucky day.

Frank was also the Softball Team Manager. He played First Base. Frank was a family man, a traditional Italian, about forty years old, clean-shaven with a Julius Caesar kind of face and just showing signs of a belly. He was at his truck with a fistful of work orders when Jim walked out in the yard after receiving his assignment.

"I drew you," Jim announced.

He liked Frank and thought they would talk baseball all day. Frank was a big sports fan.

"I know," Frank countered. "I asked especially for you."

That surprised Jim, but he thought little of it. He started looking forward to a day of baseball talk, and probably other sports, too. Jim was a pole-vaulter on his college track team. He climbed into the passenger's seat. Frank got in behind the wheel.

"Pretty good game last night, wasn't it, Frank?" Jim said as Frank pulled the dump truck onto the highway.

"Yeah, pretty good. We've got to go and pick up a load of gravel first thing," he said.

It wasn't like Frank to be preoccupied by the job. Jim decided to try again.

"Why didn't you go over to Clancy's with us? You should have gone for a little while. It was a great win—you're our leader."

"I never go out to bars," Frank grumbled. "It's better that I go home. The wife's expecting me right after the game."

Jim was only trying to get the conversation ball rolling, and when it didn't roll he knew it was better to be quiet and wait for Frank to speak. They drove along for about five miles on the way to the gravel yard.

They passed one of their usual morning coffee places without stopping, and Jim knew that Frank had something on his mind. He wondered if the boss upstairs had yelled at Frank for wasting too much time on the job.

When they got to the gravel pit Frank spoke for the first time since leaving the company lot. He pulled the truck onto the scale, reached into his pouch for the purchase order. He climbed out of the truck and headed for the shack where the yardmaster had his office.

"Hop up into the box and make sure there isn't nothin' loose back there before they dump the gravel in," he called out to Jim over his shoulder.

Jim got out and climbed up the side of the truck to take a look in the box. There was a shovel that he thought should be secured better, and he fixed that. He climbed down and got back into the cab and Frank was not far behind. Frank still said nothing to him as he put the truck in gear and made for a giant mound of gravel where a loader was waiting for them,

They were back on the highway, retracing their steps on the way to the job. Frank broke the ice.

"Gonna be a hot one today," Frank barked over the growl of the diesel, "over ninety."

"That's what I heard, Frank. It's over eighty already and it's not even nine o'clock."

"Those guys on the work crews are gonna' really sweat it out today," Frank went on. "Pretty nice of me to pull this easy duty for ya'."

Jim did like Frank, but no one is perfect. One of Frank's imperfections was making sure that you knew he was doing you a big favor. He did it when he let Jim play Right Field instead of Catcher, or when he promoted him to batting third instead of seventh in the order. Perhaps, Jim thought, Frank fancied himself as a sort of 'Don Vito Corleone' of the Gas Line Operations Department. Jim knew he was asking for trouble, but decided to indulge himself in a rejoinder, just the same.

"Did you tell Louie to take the day off so I could ride with you?"

"Wise guy," Frank growled.

Jim knew that Frank was displeased. He decided to make Frank a deal he couldn't refuse.

"I'll buy if you stop at the coffee place."

"I was gonna' stop anyway," Frank answered as they approached the diner they'd passed on their way to the gravel pit. "But I'm gonna let you buy, anyway."

Frank pulled the truck off to the side with the other trucks. When they walked into the diner it was about half-full. Jim spotted two empty stools at the counter and started to go for them.

"Let's get that table over there, instead," Frank said, so Jim made a detour and they waited for the waitress.

"I bet you wish you were back at that college of yours chasin' those college girls," Frank said.

That was another of Frank's little habits. He was always telling Jim how he would be sowing his wild Italian oats among Jim's lustful and voluptuous female classmates. While Jim would have felt fortunate to bed just one or two of them, Frank claimed that he would be making scores of the promiscuous little tarts feel lucky.

It made Jim smile to himself, because he was quite sure that Frank's only lifetime sexual conquest was Frank's own wife in their marriage bed. At the same time, it was a little bit discomforting because it served to remind Jim of his problem.

"If I were your age I'd make sure they knew what it felt like to have a big..."

"But they're all home on summer break right now," Jim reminded him.

Frank paused, like a boy realizing that a pin had been stuck in his balloon.

"Yeah, right," Frank said, "but you know what I meant."

"Sure, Frank, I know what you meant."

Just then the waitress brought them their coffee and orders of whole wheat toast. Frank pointed at Jim and the waitress handed him the check. She was surprised because Frank liked to pick up the check.

"Lose a bet to him, or something?" she asked.

Jim didn't answer, but wondered to himself if he had and just not found out about it yet.

"See," Frank said in his coaching tone as Jim washed down a mouthful of toast with a swallow of coffee, "I would keep it for those college girls. They're that kind. It's expected and they look forward to it. It's just a fun thing for them and they know how to handle a one-time thing."

Jim shook his head.

"That's not altogether true, Frank. That's something that you guys think, but it's just not like that. I wish it was more like the way you think it is."

"That's not what I heard," Frank countered, "I heard..."

"Look at Kathy Mangano in the map room," Jim said. "She's in college and..."

"You had your eye on her," Frank interrupted and poked his finger through the air at Jim.

Jim knew that his point was lost by giving Frank an opening to change the subject.

"Yes, for a while," Jim admitted.

Frank looked down into his coffee cup. After a few seconds he took a deep breath and then looked up at Jim.

"What I'm getting at is this," Frank said. "Hildy's not like one of your college girls. She's not experienced like them. It's not the same with her. She could get hurt."

"We only had a few beers together at Clancy's," Jim said. "And besides, how did you know..."

"A guy on the cleaning crew saw your two cars parked together in the lot, and then saw her get out and go home," Frank told him.

A chill ran through Jim. He knew his instincts had been right all along.

"What else did they see?"

"Just that," Frank said. "I can only guess..."

"Guess all you want. We were only talking for a little while. We were making a date for Saturday."

Frank looked down and shook his head again. He sunk his face into his hands.

"A date!" he wailed. "Oh, my God!"

"It's just a date for Saturday night, Frank," Jim pleaded.

Frank looked up and shook his head again.

"Don't let this get out of hand," Frank warned. "Where are you takin' her, anyway?"

"I don't know right now. I've got today and tomorrow to figure it out."

"Well, take her somewhere nice," Frank insisted.

"I was thinking of the Shakespeare Room."

Jim hated to be late. The big reason wasn't that he was afraid of wasting time, although he did hate wasting time. He just thought it was a sign of good manners to be on time.

So it turned out that he arrived early at Hildy's house to pick her up that Saturday night for their date. It was ten minutes before seven o'clock. It was in a small hamlet of houses in the midst of a rural area where he'd never been. So, he reserved a few extra minutes to make certain that he was on time.

He wasn't driving the 'Rustmobile'. His father had loaned him his new Pontiac Catalina for the occasion.

"Dad can be an okay guy when he wants to be," Jim said to himself as he approached the street where Hildy said he would find her house.

He slowed his car to a crawl as he peered at the house numbers to find the right one. He saw a white house with a screened porch. There was a middle aged man and woman watching him from the porch, a sort of peanut gallery.

"Number eighty-two, I think I've found it."

He stopped and then backed up a little and pulled into the driveway. It had been raining during the day and the driveway was made of crushed stone. Jim was wearing a jacket and tie so he was careful in stepping out of the car to avoid puddles to keep his polished shoes clean. The two people on the porch were still watching him from about thirty feet away inside the screened enclosure, but had said nothing to him. He looked around for a walkway.

"There's no walkway, so you'll have to walk through the grass," the man said.

Jim could see it was so and his plans to keep his shoes clean seemed to be going down the drain.

"Or you could go around to the back of the house and I could let you in through the kitchen," the lady sitting next to him offered.

Jim saw that the grass had been mowed and trimmed. It wouldn't be dry, but there was a good chance of keeping his shoes clean.

"Thanks just the same, ma'am. I'll just come through the lawn, if that's okay."

Jim didn't wait for an answer. He reached into the back seat and pulled out his blazer and put it on. In a few seconds he was marching up the front steps of the porch. He swung open the creaky door and stepped in.

"Hi, I'm Jim Connolly," Jim announced as he reached out his hand to the gentleman, who was facing him on his left.

The man didn't rise from his chair and hesitated for a second, looking Jim up and down with a scowl on his face. He reached out with an alligator arm and took Jim's hand.

Jim couldn't tell for sure because the man shaking his hand was seated, but it appeared to him that he was average height and average build with a little belly. His hair was thinning and combed backward on his head. There were thick jowls that made his head appear too big for his shoulders. Jim pegged his age to be in his early fifties. He was wearing a tee shirt with pants and suspenders.

The woman next to him was about the same age, a little larger built, but not much. She was wearing a cotton dress. Jim wondered how Hildy had become so tall, but he knew better than to ask that question.

"I know who you are," the man said. "Hildy told us you were coming for her. I'm her father."

"Yes sir," Jim replied. "It's nice to..."

"I'm Herb Wertz," he added. "This is Mrs. Wertz."

The older man released Jim's hand, which Jim offered to the lady seated next to Hildy's father. She didn't reach out to take his hand, so Jim pulled it back.

"Glad to meet you, Mr. Wertz," Jim replied "and you too, Mrs. Wertz."

"Hilda is still getting ready," her mother said.

"You're early," Mr. Wertz pointed out.

"I wasn't sure how to find your house so I gave myself a few extra minutes," Jim answered, "but I didn't need them. So, here I am."

The older man grunted. Jim expected one of them to ask him to be seated or if he would like a glass of lemonade like they were drinking. There was a spare chair alongside Mrs. Wertz. Hildy's parents didn't offer the chair or the lemonade, so Jim kept standing in front of them.

"Hildy says that you're an engineering student," the older man told him.

"Yes sir; Chemical Engineering. I'll start my final year in the fall."

"Then what?" Hildy's father demanded.

Jim shrugged.

"I'm not sure right now," he answered, and that was the truth. "I'm just trying to concentrate on getting my fifth year project done."

Hildy's father grunted again.

"Hilda tried to explain what kind of engineer you are," her mother said, "but she couldn't quite make us understand..."

"The trouble is," Herbert interrupted, "Hildy's not very smart. We tried to get her to concentrate more in school, but she just wouldn't—barely graduated. She's just not too smart."

"I hadn't noticed, sir," Jim said, "and I'm not an engineer yet. First, I have to graduate and then take my boards and..."

"We tried to get her to go to Secretarial School, but she just couldn't do the grammar," her mother added.

"She just didn't want to listen," her father said. "It was one problem after another. Like I said, she's not very smart. She's not very good looking, either."