The Chronicles of Mark and Jennifer

Jennifer came from a very religious family and was our high school valedictorian. Back in the late sixties and early seventies, when all of the other girls were wearing knee-length or just barely shorter, usually fairly tight skirts -- girls weren't allowed to wear pants to school then, unless it was below 20º F -- and miniskirts were becoming popular (but still against the school dress code), Jennifer's every day outfit was an almost mid-calf, certainly not very tight skirt, either bobby socks or knee socks, and a conservative, certainly not sexy blouse. She had very long, almost to her waist honey-blonde hair, but it was never styled, and had the slightly kinky look of hair which had just been unbraided. Makeup? Not a hint of it. At a time when all of us guys were a mass of pussy-seeking hormones, Jennifer had no boyfriend, didn't seem to want a boyfriend, and would probably have been locked away in a closet by her father if she ever had a boyfriend. She had about zero sex appeal, pretty much on purpose, and her clothes hid her body about as much as it could be hidden outside of a Middle Eastern chador. When school was out, she went straight home, and socialized with no one; her family lived outside of town, on a farm, and she had farm chores and homework and studying to do.

Jennifer wanted to be a doctor, and this was back in a time when women just didn't become physicians. She had top, top grades, getting exactly one B in high school, and that B almost devastated her. But, to become a doctor, she had to go to college, and in Kentucky, that meant the University of Kentucky, in too-far-away-to-commute Lexington. A few other colleges were closer, but they were lesser-ranked schools which would have made getting into medical school harder to do. This meant that very conservative Jennifer had to live in a dorm.

Me? I was graduated at the same time, from the same small-town high school, and I was going to UK as well. There was a requirement then that freshmen had to live in the dorms, but there were not enough dorm rooms for everybody, and some of us couldn't get a dorm room. I, for one, didn't want one, and deliberately put off my residence hall application until late, figuring that I'd be one of the freshmen excluded from the dorms, and I was. A lot of my high school friends who went to UK did get into the dorms, most of them into Haggin Hall, across from the Student Center, and a bunch of us congregated in Timmy's room to watch the draft lottery. No, not the NBA draft lottery, but the Selective Service lottery. We'd occasionally hear an "Oh, fuck!" yelled out when a low lottery number was called, and a friend of mine with a 4.0 in electrical engineering drew lottery number five; this was after President Nixon had ended student deferments, so my buddy was going to go into the Army.

My lottery number was 264, so I was safe.

But, I digress. I was on my way to class one morning, walking up the sidewalk from Euclid Avenue, going past the Student Center, with these long, poorly-planned steps -- a riser, then six feet to the next riser -- up toward the Patterson Office Tower and the Whitehall Classroom Building, when I ran into Jennifer. I am a very fast walker, and she was burdened down with books and papers. Her one dress concession to college was a backpack for some of her books, but it was a cheap, small one, and she had other stuff in her arms, and it was sliding out. Recognizing her even from behind -- no one else dressed like that at UK -- I caught up to her and offered to help.

"Oh, Mark, thanks! I guess that I shouldn't carry so much, but I like to study in the library between classes." Left unspoken was the fact that it was difficult to study in her dorm room.

"Not a problem. Where's your class?"

"I've got a calculus class next, in the Classroom Building, and then two hours before French."

"I'm headed to the same place, I'll walk you."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's OK, Jenny, it's no problem at all."

I caught just the slightest look of surprise from Jennifer: nobody called her Jenny, or at least I had never heard anyone call her anything other than Jennifer. Actually, it kind of surprised me, too; was I flirting with her?

We didn't say anything the last couple of minutes before I dropped her off at her classroom, but I made a conscious mental note of where her class was. Mine was just a floor above hers, and I started to think: what could Jennifer actually be like, now that she's away from home?

Her face was cute, even though she took no effort at all to look good. Her body, well, she wasn't fat by any means, but her clothes did nothing to show off her figure. She seemed to be just average. I could tell that she didn't have big boobs.

I would say that I was "between girlfriends," but that would imply that I had girlfriends. The truth is that I'd had a few dates, dates that went nowhere. I had been pathetic when it came to girls in high school, and never even got to go to prom, but had gotten a lot more confident once I got to UK. My clumsiness reputation didn't follow me, which gave me an actual chance with girls, but while I could get dates now, they weren't really going anywhere. I was a couple weeks shy of my nineteenth birthday, and I was still a virgin.

Was I desperate? Well, maybe, because all of a sudden I was thinking about Jennifer in a way I hadn't before. She was decent-looking, even though she didn't try to be, and she was smart; that's not a bad package at all. And I assumed that she was still a virgin, with no boyfriend. At any rate, whether I was officially desperate or not, I started thinking of ways to go out with Jennifer.

Fortunately, UK made that easy, because back in the early 1970s, they actually published a student directory, including the telephone numbers of every student in the dorms. I wouldn't have to go through any special effort to find her number or in which dorm she lived. The only question was: where could I take her, and how would I go about asking her out?

Well, the where was simple: I could ask her out for dinner at Joe Bologna's, an at-the-time hole-in-the-wall Italian restaurant right off campus. (It has since expanded, but that hasn't made it any better.) Joe B's was hugely popular with UK students, it was cheap, and there were many times students would go over at 10 PM just for an order of the garlic-butter drenched bread sticks. I could ask Jen -- darn, another diminutive name for her! -- if she wanted to go there, and it would still be casual enough that it wouldn't be a too-much first date for her.

There was also the question of when. I didn't know, but it wouldn't have been any surprise to me at all if her parents didn't pick her up every weekend, and that meant asking her out for Friday, Saturday or Sunday ran a good chance of an automatic no, because she couldn't accept. It would have to be a weekday, and that was when Joe B's was at least slightly less crowded anyway.

Now, the only question left was: how do I ask her out? There were only two ways: I could "accidentally" run into her, and ask her out in person, or I could do it over the phone. Since I knew when and where she had calculus, I could find her easily enough, but then I realized it was already Wednesday afternoon, and she wouldn't have calc again until Friday; it was either over the phone, or wait until next week.

I had to be casual, I knew. I kept thinking that there were some magic words that would guarantee acceptance, but I was never good with "lines." I did my best to write out a script, and even rehearsed it, even though it was very simple, 'cause it had to sound natural. I was getting the shakes just thinking about this. Yeah, if I hadn't been desperate before, I was thinking myself into being desperate over this. An ordinary looking girl, with zero sex appeal, and I was getting just way, way nervous about the whole thing.

It's too late today, I thought, it'll have to be tomorrow. Trouble is, I didn't know her Thursday schedule, didn't know when she'd be in her dorm. Well, Hell, the only thing I could do was call, and if she wasn't there, she wasn't there. There was always next week. Who knows, maybe calling and her not being there will be like practicing, without anyone hearing me!

Well, I picked a time. Thursday classes at UK usually ran 11:00 to 12:15 and then 12:30 to 1:45. I'd call her dorm at 2:15, which would give her enough time to get back from class, if she had a noon-thirty class, and if she went back to her dorm from there. She wouldn't be having lunch then, and there's still some time before dinner.

OK, I had my plan set, and now all that I had to do was wait calmly until tomorrow afternoon. I checked my wallet, realized that I didn't have enough money, so I went to the Convenient Food Mart on the corner of Euclid and South Limestone to cash a check. There were no ATMs back in the dark ages! I got out $40, which was a fortune for 1972! That was way more than enough for dinner at Joe B's.

I made myself a couple of bologna sandwiches, and that plus a bag of potato chips and an Ale-8, was dinner for me. I needed to work on a term paper, and some chemistry homework, but couldn't concentrate. I didn't have a television, so I dug out one of my old Conan paperbacks, the old Lancer Book 12 volume series edited by L Sprague deCamp, books which had already been read to falling apart. Naturally, along with slaying of countless bad guys, Conan always got the girl, and the girl was always splendidly formed, lithe but voluptuous, and not overdressed. Those were the women I was supposed to fantasize about, and here I was worrying and fretting about asking out a plain-jane-by-choice religious girl. The odds were that I'd get turned down, and if I did, big deal, no great loss.

Yeah, I kept telling myself that.

Yeah, I tossed and turned all night, but managed to get in a few hours of sleep.

Since I had some cash on me now, I could do something I usually avoided, to save money, and that was get breakfast at the Student Center Cafeteria. Scrambled eggs -- that was what they normally had, probably from powdered eggs -- in a huge pan, bacon, toast, and coffee. That was enough to calm my nerves for classes. I didn't bother getting together with any of my friends, but headed back to my student-slums apartment when I got out of chemistry at 12:15. That meant that I had two hours to wait before I called.

I was too nervous to study, so I picked up another Conan and started reading . . . and soon fell asleep on the couch! The Cimmerian warrior was fleeing a pack of hunting lions across the grasslands of Kush, and the lions were closing in, only to halt just before they could drag him to ground, just as I knew would happen, and I fell asleep.

A loud thump out in the hallway startled me awake, and, crap! it was 4:30! I'd missed my target calling time, but it still wasn't too late. I checked the number in the student directory, and dialed Jen's room in Blazer Hall. Please, please, please! I was thinking to myself, lucky to not be saying it out loud.

"Hello?" A girl answered, but it wasn't Jennifer; it must've been her roommate.

"Hi, is Jennifer there?"

"Yeah, just a minute." And in the background, I could hear, "Jennifer, it's for you, and it's a guy!" I could hear the smile in the girl's voice.

"Is it my dad" I could hear Jennifer asking in the background.

"Didn't sound like him."

Then Jennifer picked up the phone and said, "Hello?"

"Hi, Jen, this is Mark. Would you like to have dinner with me at Joe B's this evening?"

I think the whole idea stunned her for a moment, because she didn't say anything for a few seconds. Finally, "Dinner?"

"Sure. It's got to be a nice change from the cafeteria food."

Another few seconds, and, "Sure, OK, that would be nice." I could hear the nervousness in her voice, and that made me a lot less nervous.

"Great. I'll pick you up at 6:30."

"OK, bye."

Man, I did it! I was feeling really great!

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Monica's story

The phone rang; who the heck was calling now? I didn't really feel like answering it, but Jennifer was doing some kind of math homework, so I had to. "Hello?"

"Hi, is Jennifer there?"

"Yeah, just a minute," I answered. Then I looked over at my roommate and sort of whispered, "Jennifer, it's for you, and it's a guy!"

"Is it my dad?"

"Didn't sound like him," I replied, but I'd never heard any guy other than her father calling for her. I handed the telephone receiver to Jennifer.

"Hello?" A few seconds later, she had this surprised, weird look on her face. "Dinner?" A few seconds later, "Sure, OK, that would be nice," and then "OK, bye."

Jennifer turned around and looked at me, looking wholly mystified, so I asked, "Did you just get asked out on a date?"

"I think I did." She still looked mystified. "That was Mark, a guy from my high school, and he just asked me to have dinner with him at Joe Bologna's."

I jumped up and hugged her. Jennifer is such a sweet girl, loving and kind and very religious, always polite, but a little difficult to get to know. She dressed as dowdily as a girl could, and was always studying. "This evening? Girl, we've got to get you ready!"

"I don't know, what do you mean?"

"Jennifer Matthews, have you ever been out on a date before?"

"No, not really?"

"Not really? Have you ever kissed a guy before?"

"No, of course not!" Good Lord,she sounded like I had asked her if she'd screwed the basketball team or something.

"OK, look, here's what we've got to do. Your hair is glorious, but you don't keep it right. Here's my shampoo and some good cream rinse. Go take a shower, and work that cream rinse into your hair really good, and then rinse it all back out."

"But . . . ."

"No, buts, go do it now!" I threw her a towel, practically shoved her out the door, and marched her down to the floor's bathroom.

"I don't need to do this for dinner."

"Yes, you do, now get in there."

Jennifer had this look of resignation, and terror, on her face, but she wen into the bathroom. I practically ran down the hall and knocked on Rachel's door."

"Huh, what is it?"

"Rachel, Jennifer has a date!"

"Huh, really, Jennifer?"

"Yeah, I'm not kidding. Some guy named Mark just called her up, out of the blue, and asked her out to dinner, but she needs help. Are those new jeans of yours clean? She's pretty much the same size as you."

"Yeah, they're clean. Are you stealing my good jeans for Jennifer?"

"You know what dowdy clothes she has. Those jeans would look a lot better on her, and so would those Aigner sandals."

"Monica, she won't wear that stuff."

"Yes, she will, I'll make her wear them. And we've got to get her hair ready, too. She's in the shower now, and I gave her my good cream rinse."

"She'll need that, with that rat's nest hair of hers."

"Well, grab those jeans and shoes, and c'mon over. I need help!"

About that time, Rachel's roommate got back, and heard what was going on. "Really, Jennifer, a date?" If Alice knew about it, it wouldn't be twelve minutes before all of the other girls on the floor knew!

Rachel and I were in my room, waiting with the stuff, when Jennifer got back from the shower. "OK, girl, we've got to get your ready! Sit down here, I'm going to brush out and dry your hair." She still had the deer-in-the-headlights look, but she went along with us. Rachel sat down on the floor, and started to work on her toenails, which put our little victim practically into shock, and I started brushing out her hair.

"It's just evening out your nails and some clear polish." Rachel had the easier job: Jennifer's hair was almost down to her waist, and a natural honey blonde, but it was kind of dry and fly-away, and needed some help. The cream rinse sure helped, and brushing out her hair made it silky and shiny, but it still had no real style to it. There was only one thing to do, for a casual date like Joe B's, and that was pull it back into a pony tail. It looked surprisingly good on her. After we were done, Rachel handed her the jeans and sandals and said, "Go put these on."

"I can't wear these things!"

"Why not? They're just jeans and shoes. Trouble is, you don't have anything right for a date." Our victim turned around to do as she was told, and Rachel started going through her closet, looking for a good shirt for her. "OK, none of this stuff will do. I'll be right back." Then Rachel took off down the hall to her room, and came back with a white shirt.

"I have white blouses, you know," Jennifer protested.

"Yeah, you do, but they're all crap, unstylish crap. This is actually a bit thicker than the blouses you usually wear, a menswear shirt, and it's plenty modest, but it's cut better than your stuff, and it will look fabulous on you." Jennifer turned her back to us to change shirts, and when she finally turned back around to face us, she looked really great, casually great, stylish and, I'm amazed to say it, almost elegant. "Now, let me look at your fingernails. Ugh. Well, there's not much we can do with them other than even them up a bit, and use the clear polish." Rachel started working on Jennifer's hands while I got out my make up case.

"No, no make up," Jennifer protested, "I'm not wearing that stuff. The women in our church don't wear make up."

"Jennifer, just a touch of mascara, because your lashes are so light. You've got really pretty blue eyes, but they kind of get washed out due to the light lashes. In a dark place like Joe B's, your eyes won't show up at all without a little contrast." A little more pleading, and she finally relented after I promised to just do the bare minimum.

After we were all done, I couldn't believe how long it had taken us, but Jennifer looked fantastic. Her face was naturally pretty, not movie star glamorous, but just pretty. Her hair was shining, and looked really good, and her figure stood out as being fit and slender. We made her look at herself in the mirror, and I think it was a bit of a shock to her.

"Monica, I don't know what to do!"

"Look, this is your first date, and that's always going to be scary, but if this guy knows you, he's not going to be expecting to take you to bed tonight." That brought a look of shock to her face! "All that you have to do is be kind and polite, which is the way you always are, and he'll either like you or he won't."

"But what if he wants to kiss me?"

"Oh, good grief, if he wants to kiss you, and you want him to, then kiss him! It won't kill you, and it won't send you to Hell. I mean, c'mon, the women in your church must kiss men, or your church would have died out in one generation."

"You do realize than your mother and your father must have 'done it,'" Rachel put in, perhaps not very helpfully.

The phone rang, and I answered it. "Hello?"

"This is the front desk; there's a gentleman here for Jennifer Matthews."

"OK, thank you. OK, Jennifer, this is it, your date is downstairs."

Rachel took off, and down the stairs; a bunch of us had to see Jennifer's first date!

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To be continued