Reunion 1993 Pt. 01

Tom (not so) Terrific +++++

Noticing Tommy seated at the bar with Alma, a pause allowed Jimmy and I to find a table and switch subjects. "So Tommy tells me he runs a car franchise downtown--how prosperous!"

"Is that what he said? He's does have a flair for the unlikely; probably told you he was separated too," Jimmy shook his head.

I nodded and raised an eyebrow. "So what's the story?" I asked and ordered my first of several Vodka-sevens.

"Hey, if you were anyone else, I'd back him up. I do that a lot." Obviously I wasn't the average visiting idiot. "Jimmy owns his own shop--a welder's shop behind Main, actually off of the alley behind Main on 6^th. Remember where we used to sneak away in grade school to sneak cigarettes?" I nodded. "He married a gal from down in Dowells a few years back; still see's her from time to time."

"Hmm, wonder why he felt he had to lie to me?" I wondered.

"Barb, today is like most every day for Tommy ever since high school graduation. We all have our little white lies and stories. Tommy's is very simple tale. He's never grown up."

A young waitress interrupted.

"Aren't you gonna join me for a drink, I'm buying," I offered, touching his hand, before taking a healthy sip of my drink.

His eyes shifted at once to my hand on his. "I don't drink, Barb." I nodded but shelved away a perception, as he spoke more about our mutual friend. "We've kept in contact pretty much since high school, and it's like he's become quite adept at treading water--never moving an inch. Remember back in school, about the only thing (besides girls) that held his interest was shop class?"

"Yeah, he was into... welding. No WAY?"

"In the common vernacular...WAY!" He replied and continued. "When his folks passed away, he had to sell their house to pay off debts. That's why he's living in a shack. He fashions himself as Richfield's gigolo. I'm afraid he's really nothing more than a cheap womanizing lush, reduced to prowling old dames to bail him out of his sorry existence."

"That's SO sad, Jimmy. I never for a minute would have guessed that..." I started, when his fingers curled around my hand.

"He really is quite harmless, but you probably wouldn't want to mention any of this..." I stopped Jimmy, by adding my other hand to the mix. "I hear he has great plans for you--hate to ruin THAT!"

"No, no, my lips are sealed. Besides, Tommy's not the only one with a story, I'm sure," I said, running a few fingers lightly into the palm of his hand. Jimmy's eye lids purposely lifted to share a bleak stare. Training my eyes to pierce through a film of sadness, he wouldn't have it. Pulling his hand and eyes slowly away, now was not the time to share his story.

When Jimmy wouldn't divulge Tommy's special surprise for me, I finished my drink. After another long silence I noticed Alma heading for the ladies room. Making an excuse to Jimmy, I was determined to join her.

The Hidden Agenda +++++

"So Alma, how was the trip from Chicago? How's life in the Windy City? It sounds so exciting!" I was in multiple question mode, traipsing behind her as we entered the ladies room.

Alma was already in a stall by the time I brought up Chicago, so she only half-heard, or was consciously ignoring me. "Are you always this cheerful, or is this an attempt to gloss over the fact you were holding hands with my husband?"

Dead silence. I waited for one last woman to leave the restroom, before making my escape. By then Alma unlocked her stall and stopped me. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of that," she said. "None of this is your fault--well, not wittingly," she followed up before cleaning her hands.

Standing at the basin next to her I had to ask, "None of what? I mean I'm sorry about the hand-holding..." I started, as she dried her hands.

"So, how many others here today are in this secret society of yours?" She casually touched my shoulder. Drawing a blank stare, I returned a quizzical expression. "The Barb Appreciation Society, TBAS, I call it for short. I've been dealing with this for YEARS!"

Now I was in shock and still speechless, as she went on to reveal more of her dilemma. Apparently Tommy and Jimmy have kept in touch for the last 25 years, having just one thing (or person) in common--ME. "I mean, poor Tommy is just a lost soul, but Jim? He's got a wife and family. I don't get it! Tommy calls like once a month or so and every conversation is the damn same...Barb this--Barb that; wonder what BARB's up to; does she look the same; remember the night when we double-dated her together?--God, I've heard THAT one until I could SCREAM!" Alma's grip on my shoulder tightened to the point I had to move away.

"I had NO idea! That's simply crazy! You must really hate me!" I reckoned, and backed away. I truthfully explained that I've had absolutely no contact with either guy since high school.

"Oh, I know, I KNOW! I've decided over the years, that it's an obsession. I mean, some guys are into sports or hobbies...something to fill their feeble brains. In their case, it's you," the shaken woman lamented.

"I'm SO very sorry you've been put through this. From what I'm discovering about Tommy, this whole obsession thing is likely his doing. People that live in the past are prone to such delusions, don't ya think--kind of like stalkers?"

"I agree totally, but that doesn't explain Jim's condition," her eyes shifted, like she'd mistakenly opened Pandora's Box.

"His condition?" I tried to pry it open.

She shook her head and silently edged to the other side of the restroom. The wall broke her deliberation, as she began to share what, to many, is unspeakable. "Jim is im... for the past seven years, we haven't..." She had never actually spoke the word out loud. Covering her face in her hands, she started to whimper.

"He's impotent?" I said. She nodded.

"...doctor calls it Erectile Dysfunction," she let out a seven-year-old labored sigh, as I put my arm around her for consolation. Petting her darker brown hair, I brought her into my arms.

"Ah, the dreaded ED's disease; can I ask you something, Alma?" I separated us to see a reaction. She nodded and sniffed. "Was Jimmy in any kind of accident or suffered from any other abnormal things?" She shook her head, no. "Did you guys ever get a second opinion--another doctor?" Again she shook her head no, but this time she raised her puffy eyes to meet mine.

"Do you think we should? You think that would help, Barb?" Her eyes opened wide with anticipation.

"Could be psychological, ya know. Guys are weird critters: performance anxieties, self-esteem issues, hypertension, lack of the proper attention and patience. For all those strong manly expectations, we can forget how fragile they can be," I explained.

She cleared away her sniffles and finger-combed some unruly locks of hair. "I've thought about some of that stuff; just afraid how to approach him," Alma confessed. "I'm fairly certain he still jacks off--almost caught him a few times. Am I that ugly that he would rather whack off than deal with me?"

"That's pretty unlikely, besides you're not ugly. Guys just "do" what they do... kind of like dogs licking themselves," I added.

"Huh?"

"What, you've never heard why dogs lick themselves?" I asked. She shook her head. "...because they CAN." She nodded and smiled.

"If I knew for sure that he could get it up, that would be a good start, don't you think?" I smiled and nodded. "You, YOU could do that, Barb!" She said.

"W-wait a minute, Alma. Jim's YOUR hubby. This is between you and him. You certainly don't need me to add salt to the wound..."

"Of COURSE, what better way to test his limp pecker!" Something told me she had already pre-rationalized my involvement in some sort of sordid scenario.

"I think you, along with those two goofballs, assume more happened between us than ever existed back in high school. We, the three of us, were really no more than good friends more than 25 years ago. Sure, we might have messed around at the drive-in, but THAT WAS IT! I never once came close to... to actually screwing either one of them," I affirmed adamantly.

"Listen Miss "Tits-too-big", you're making it sound like I'm asking for the moon. Jesus Christ, you are Jimmy's "It Girl"; Tommy's for that matter. And, if you know half as much as you claim about E.D., you must have plenty of experience. Here I am, asking you, one woman to another, for a simple favor that just MAY help save our marriage."

"And what if he doesn't respond-- what then?" I kicked myself for even considering such a proposal.

"Barb, or is it Betty? Yeah, I've heard plenty of stories too. Honey, if Backseat Betty can't get it done, then NO-body can!"

Rolling my eyes, I scowled. "I'll have you know, Alma, that particular moniker (Backseat Betty) was inauspiciously awarded to me in college. Only a few of my so-called friends know about it. I guarantee you it had NOTHING to do with high school," I tried to clear up her implication.

"So, you were the perfect little angel in high school? I seriously doubt it," she countered. "Come on Barb, be a doll and do this one thing for me. I'll never ask or bother you for another favor...again... I promise," she pleaded.

She was possibly every bit as resourceful and cunning as yours truly, when it came to friendly persuasion. However, for an instant, I sensed a deep sincerity beyond the begging. "Tell ya what, we'll see how things go. If the occasion arises, so to speak... well, we'll just see how things play out. That's the best I can offer," I was purposely vague.

"Oh goodie! And, I promise to, at least, try and keep tabs on Jughead (Tommy). It will be tough though, considering the plans he has in store for you," she added, before giving me a one-armed squeeze as we left the restroom. I took that as a possible exception to her sincerity. [Oh God, this is gonna be like 'Night of the Living Dead...' I shuddered.]

Blast from the Past +++++

We rejoined Jimmy and Tommy just in time to hear an announcement, "Dinner is now being served." Sitting down for our late lunch with six other classmates, we were soon reflecting on the old days and sharing inconsequential tidbits about each others' families, current jobs, etc. Foregoing my dessert in lieu of two more Vodka-sevens, I was sufficiently numb from the neck up.

"Well Barb, are you quite ready for your surprise?" Tommy proposed, ready to burst.

"I'm STILL trying to guess what this BIG surprise could be. Just seeing you guys and meeting Alma is quite a treat!" I answered nodding toward the three of them.

"OKAY then, let's go!" Tommy could no longer contain himself.

"GO? Go where?" I replied, getting up to follow them. As the other guests dispersed, the four of us headed for a side door. "Where are we going?"

"You'll see soon enough." Tommy was determined to build some suspense. "Actually, you'll need this first," he said and whipped out a dinner napkin. Turning me around at the side door, he twirled the napkin around several times and tied it around my head to cover my eyes. "You need to get the whole effect."

"Right..." I felt for the door with my blinder fully intact. Feeling the outside air, Tommy walked me a few feet from the door. When I heard Jimmy and Alma's reactions I reached up to undo the cotton napkin.

"Here, let ME do that..." Tommy pushed my hands away and unwrapped me. "SURPRISE!" He yelled.

Adjusting to what light was left, I saw a car. "Wow, it's... a car... a blue car! You got me an old blue car?!"

"No, it's not yours. It's mine. I've been working on this, off and on for years," Tommy explained, as I walked closer to inspect it. "You don't recognize it--REALLY?" Tommy was taken back at my less-than-ecstatic assessment.

"What? It's like a 1960-something Chevy, right?" I tried to see something about it I SHOULD remember.

"Barb, this is a 1962, powder-blue Impala. It's all completely restored, well almost. Do I have to be more specific?" He was becoming a bit perturbed.

Squinting my eyes to check out the interior, it finally dawned on me, "Yes, YES, it's just like my Uncle Paul's car...WOW!"

"Better than THAT, it IS Paul's Impala! How about THAT?" He declared and lightly tapped the hood.

"OH MY GOODNESS! It IS! Shit Tommy, I AM impressed...but how?" I exclaimed, softly running my hand along the finely waxed lines of Paul's pride and joy. This was truly a muscle car classic.

"Pretty simple. Before he left for Vietnam in the spring of 1970, Paul sold it to me. I remember his exact words, "This baby holds plenty of solid memories for me. As soon as I get home I'm buying it back." "When I asked him to share some of those fun memories, he just winked and smiled. Of course, as we all know, he didn't make it back, so..."

"Yeah, that sounds like good ol' Uncle Paul. He certainly made all sorts of memories in this sucker," I added, letting my mind skip back to one particular birthday of mine. "Can I?"

"SURE, you bet. Let me do the honors," Tommy gleamed and opened the shotgun-side to let me in.

Seated on the rolled bench seat, I fixed my gaze on the clean dashboard, the bloated speedometer, and long rearview mirror. Hand-cranking down the thick window a few inches for some air, I was able over hear the three of them.

"Ya think she's impressed, Tommy?" Alma asked.

"Oh YEAH! I'm definitely getting lucky tonight!" He spouted.

"Well, just remember who spotted you the cash for this beast in the first place," Jimmy reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, I know! And, I've almost got you paid off, too," Tommy dismissed him. "Did you see her eyes light up? Just look at her. I'll bet she's as wet right now as she was that night you screwed the pooch."

"You guys are sick," Alma shook her head and walked away. She had heard (their version of) that story one too many times.

"Fuck you asshole. You don't know shit about what happened that night," Jimmy used harsher language, once his wife wasn't there to reprimand.

Keeping (what they thought) a safe distance from me and the car, Tommy paced and tossed the worn set of car keys. "I only know what you told me, Man. You had her ripe and ready; then you muffed it--what a chump," he laughed. "...and, on her friggin' birthday--how could you screw that up?"

"Yeah, well you haven't seen me touch a drop since that night, have you?" Jimmy butted in; then quickly flashed the high sign. "Here's comes Natalie. Shut the fuck UP!" He added, waving to Woody as she approached.

"Well, what do we have here?" Nat asked, as I threw my arm back over the front seat to wave. "James...good to see you," she used proper names for those she somewhat respected.

"Mrs. Sherwin, I believe. I see the years have been generous to you as well." Jimmy was so gallant when necessary.

Tommy jerked open the driver's side door, "So Baby, ya ready for a test drive?"

"Huh? Oh, I have to talk to Nat for a second," seeing there was no use in backing out. "Wood, can you help me out?"

"Sure kid, got a hot date in with a dead Uncle?" She remarked, sticking her head inside.

"Oh, you noticed. No, I gotta appease Tommy. Can you take my car? I'll call ya from Sherri's, okay?"

"Sure, whatever floats your boat. Personally I don't think you should..." she started.

I sensed a lecture coming and was in no mood. "I know, I know. Just trust me on this one. I'll explain later," I winked. "C'mon Tommy, let's make tracks!" I yelled. He jumped in and cranked over the ignition. Peeling rubber, as the old beast was historically prone to do, I smiled and waved at the three onlookers.

"So you like my little surprise, hey!" Tommy boasted, before downshifting to make the old Impala screech again.

"Yes, I AM impressed, but we probably don't need the cops on our tail. We've got the whole night ahead of us," I added, knowing he'd already had enough drinks to get us arrested.

"No sweat, Babe. I could out run Richfield's finest in a heartbeat with this honey."

"Sure ya could. Right now though, I need to get to Sherri's," I tried to keep some semblance of reality.

"Oh yeah, soon as we scoot over to my place for a second--gotta pick up something," he added, flying around the corner off of Main street. He squealed to a stop and made the long reach across me to open my door. "Come on in for a while. I want to show you the place."

Against my better judgment, I still felt somewhat obligated. "Okay, but just for a minute. I really DO need to get to the salon," I advised and closed the creaky clunky door.

Tommy embodied Thoreau's reflection from Walden, "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation." There was a tangible despair that lay just beyond his once bright eyes. His "place" was a clear reflection of that desperation. It was more like a 1970's crash pad than anything resembling a modern 1990's abode. The small, poorly furnished rustic four-room shack must have been a garage at one time. A slight smell of gas fumes and oil added to the ambiance of strewn clothes, fast food wrappers, empty beer cans and a disheveled bed and dresser. Furniture, clothes and trash hovered in suspension over an ungodly once-orange thread-bare shag rug. The only redeeming aspect was poor lighting. God and Satin only know what sort of organisms were propagating in that rug.

"Sorry, I don't entertain much. The place probably needs a little cleaning," he admitted. [That may have been the ultimate understatement, ever!]

"Yeah Tommy, and Bigfoot could probably use a shave."

"Huh?" He hadn't really heard me, as he searched through several piles of clothes for something.

It was way too dark for me to see what he dug out of a pair of stained jeans. I didn't ask. He turned and headed toward me. I stood motionless, as he brought his face close to mine. "So, you ARE impressed with the car?" He restated, letting his hands rest on my hips.

"Yeah Tom, that was a sweet surprise," I placated him. His hands worked up my sides.

"I kind of thought it might bring back some fun memories, ya know," he added, flashing me his excuse for puppy-dog eyes. [Yes it did, but like he and several others have no doubt speculated over the years, you'll never know HOW much 'fun' those memories were!]

Obviously he was begging for a kiss. I chuckled and brought my hands to his shoulders for insurance more than anything else. After another nervous giggle, I shot him a reassuring smile and leaned into kiss the tip of his nose. "I was kinda hoping for more than THAT," He pouted. I leaned in again and kissed his cheek. Circling his hands around my waist, he pulled me closer and planted a hard full-mouth kiss on my tightened lips.

The force of his attack stunned me for a second. Pushing my palms against his shoulders, I was able to break the kiss and put some space between us. "Okay Tommy, I'm afraid that's as good as it gets," I caught my breath, but scarcely had time for the next barrage.

He grabbed and held the back of my head, as his tongue forced its way inside my mouth. When I pushed back even harder, his hands and fingers nimbly went to work on my bra clasp. Within seconds he'd unhooked my 2-inch wide boulder-holder, while his free hand went to hike up my long skirt. I let my heavy purse fall to my feet and slowly edged my hand down the outside of his pants. "That's it Baby, you know what you need, YEAH," Tommy whispered in my ear, as one hand worked under my blouse.

"Oh yeah, I know what I need," I purred and circled my hand around his package. I immediately applied a vice-grip hold on his nut sack with one hand. With my other hand, I forced my finger nails into the side of his throat on either side of his carotid artery.

"Holy, FUCKING SHI---!" He started to exclaim and froze. Dropping his hands to his side, he soon realized I had a death grip on him. Grimacing from the pain, he remained locked in place.