The Lesson

by Welch, Virginia

  “Champagne and dinner sound nice. Just bring me whatever looks good as long as it’s lean, nothing with any heavy sauces. And if there’s salad, please make sure you get me some. Dressing on the side. Bread, no butter.”

  Gina left him and got into the buffet line. She prepared two plates of food, being careful to make Burk’s as he requested, and carried them to the table. Then she filled two glasses of champagne from the fountain and carried them to the table. They ate in silence a while, and as they did, Gina looked at Burk’s face from time to time. She could look at his eyes for as long as she wished; he wasn’t embarrassed. It had not occurred to her until now how critical eye contact is for deep communion with another person. Discussing light stuff and reading menus and exchanging casual pleasantries were one thing. Really getting to know someone and looking into their soul through the window of their eyes was another. Gina was sad to realize that she would never be able to read Burk in this way.

  Frank Sinatra began singing "Makin’ Whoopee" in the music corner. The words were as painful as the tune. She tried to shut them out as they ate, but unfortunately they were seated close to the record player, which ensured that she’d hear those stupid lyrics playing in her head for the next three days. It took little time for them to eat. Suddenly the food was gone and they were sitting there engulfed in awkward silence. Her eyes swept around the room, not really seeing anything. Her mind was on the three bouquets. Why had Michael not left a note? Why had he not followed up with a phone call? Perhaps he wanted to see what she would do? Perhaps he was hoping she’d take the next step? Should she call him?

  “Gina, you’d like to dance, wouldn’t you?” asked Burk.

  Gina stopped woolgathering and looked at him, incredulous. “To this?”

  “Not this song in particular. Any song. You like to dance, don’t you?”

  “I love to dance.”

  “We could dance, but you’d have to lead because I can’t see to get us safely between other couples. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Actually, Burk, we’d be safer if we just sat here, period. I wouldn’t know how to lead. I wouldn’t even know how to follow. I’ve never had slow-dance lessons, and this group doesn’t strike me as the type to put on any rock and roll soon.”

  They suffered through a few more old hits during which they talked little because the music was so loud. Sinatra finally shut up, and then Bing Crosby’s voice broke across the sound system in “Cheek to Cheek,” in which he droned on about being in Heaven. The wicked irony of it struck Gina as terribly funny. She started to chuckle.

  “What’s so funny?” asked Burk.

  “He’s in Heaven and we’re in Hell.” Gina laughed out loud this time and as she did, she made a note not to have a second glass of champagne. She always got silly like this when she drank, but not usually with just one drink. Must have been because she had arrived at the party with an empty stomach. Or maybe the lyrics were making her loony.

  “Yes, this does seem like some sort of Purgatory. Do you want to go now?”

  “No, said Gina. “I wanted to go a few minutes after we arrived. Family parties were better—I mean more intimate—at my parents’ house. It’s a little stiff here. But of course, I must warn you, if we leave now we’ll miss the Conga line, and I know you’ve been waiting a whole year for that.”

  Burk smiled and was about to respond when there was pop of a bottle cork followed by fizzing, and then a woman yelled as if in pain. All eyes turned toward the champagne fountain. Gina too turned her head in that direction and saw her Aunt Peaches doubled over at the waist, rubbing her eye and grimacing.

  “The cork! It hit me in the eye!” wailed Aunt Peaches.

  Mr. Jacobs was holding the champagne bottle, looking shocked.

  “Burk, I think my dad must have been trying to refill the champagne fountain and the cork hit my aunt in the eye.” Gina felt compelled to explain for her blind date’s sake.

  People were rushing toward the fountain to help Aunt Peaches, and Gina’s father was apologizing all over the place. It seemed an opportune time to slip out unnoticed.

  “Let’s go, okay? My relatives are taking care of it,” said Gina.

  Burk retrieved his cane from the floor and Gina threw on her wrap and grabbed her purse. It felt odd to help Burk out to the car, to lead a man around. She wondered if she would get used to it if she ever had to do it all the time. Helping Burk with the menu and assisting him to a table or the counter with her voice at the restaurant was, in her desire to be a good employee, conscientious and courteous customer service. But tonight Burk was her date, and she had to admit, she was finding the switch in traditional gender roles unsettling.

  The evening had not gone well, Gina thought as they drove down dark Monterey Road. That Kevin! He had gone out of his way to draw attention to Burk’s age, which had set the evening on a downer from the start. But it was her fault for misjudging this social event: of course a family party at an age-restricted mobile home park wouldn’t feel like a family holiday at her parents’ house. She made a silent commitment not to be so dumb about these things in the future. Now she had to do what she could to salvage the evening, though she could feel herself falling into a slump. She hoped Burk didn’t feel it too. To camouflage the awkwardness she decided to make small talk.

  “Burk, tell me about your work at the lab in Palo Alto.” Most people, she knew, loved to talk about their jobs. And if he did the talking tonight, it just made it easier for her not to.

  “It’s very important research. I work with renowned chemist Doctor Jacques Chalmers—I’m sure you know that he conducted research at University Louis Pasteur in Strasbourg, a most critical volume of research—funded by an international award. You see, when one has the long list of awards and citations that he does, it is not hard to get financial backing.”

  “I see.”

  “Our work with the thermodynamics of enzyme-catalyzed reactions is critical to every important field: technology, defense, food production, water sanitation. Enzyme-catalyzed reactions, and learning how to harness their power, gives us the potential to change the world. Doctor Chalmers is a true visionary. He has conducted verifiable and promising enzyme research that could make their reactions as important to future technological projects as DNA is to biological research …”

  It wasn’t right to woolgather when others were talking, but Gina was too preoccupied at the moment to worry about good manners. Why was Kevin so presumptuous? It had started the night he followed her home from the Menzies and it had never stopped. She had thought after they had had their long discussion in the garage that they had an understanding. He would back off a little and let her breathe. Obviously his idea of backing off and hers were not the same. She had understood that they would remain friends, like brother and sister. But he had shown up at her apartment without calling and ruined her evening with Burk. Maybe guys like Kevin had to be hit over the head with a verbal bat. Pow! Problem was, she had already been very plain speaking, and it had not deterred him.

  “Doctor Chalmers says that …”

  Burk droned on but Gina heard nothing but her own internal monologue. It wasn’t like she wanted Kevin to go away; she didn’t dislike him. She just wanted him to quit thinking of her as a prize to be won. But every attempt to convey this notion fell flat. If she opened the door just a tiny bit in the form of common courtesy or ordinary civility he pushed himself through it. If she answered the phone with the idea of just talking with him to get to know him better, he wanted a date. If she spent time with him doing the most platonic of activities, he wanted a commitment of marriage. If he wasn’t so likable and fun there would be no problem. She would simply tell him to get lost and then stick with that decision.

  The verbal bat. That’s what it would take. Quit trying to be nice. Quit trying to be polite.

  They had been driving on Monterey Road only a few minutes and were still far from the residential section, and she was still musing on what words to use on
Kevin that would have a really big Pow! factor when there was a muffled bang and then a heavy thump, thump, thump from the rear passenger side of the car. Gina knew that thump, thump, thump. She’d had a flat tire a few months before.

  But maybe she was wrong. She hoped she was wrong.

  Burk had heard it too. “I think you have a flat tire,” he said.

  “Maybe not. Let’s hope. I’ll stop the car right here and take a look.”

  Gina pulled over to the shoulder, which was easy to do because there was little development on this rural section of Monterey Road. She turned off the engine. The silence was as ominous as the darkness that swallowed up her little Austin. The remote section of Monterey Road where they’d broken down was too far from town to have street lights. The only lights around anywhere were blurry neon signs several hundred yards ahead of them. She could vaguely make out a dated-looking martini glass set an angle with an olive in it. Surely that meant there was a bar, and where there was a bar, there was a pay phone.

  “I’ll get out and check it,” she said. “You might as well stay here. No use both of us getting creamed.” Gina unlocked the car door and started to get out.

  “Do you have a flashlight, Gina?”

  “No, but I’ll be okay.”

  She opened her door and got out to investigate. Rushing headlights lit up her shimmery white halter. It was cold out, but she knew that when she had chosen such a skimpy outfit; it was December 31, after all, the early part of winter. She just hadn’t planned to spend it standing outdoors on a freezing highway. When the coast was clear she walked around the car on the highway side because the passenger side had a steep incline into a ditch. The tire was flat, no doubt about it. But that’s not what was bothering Gina at the moment. Looking at the sorry-looking flat tire that spilled onto the road like molten lava jolted her memory: her spare tire was also flat.

  She stood there a moment, thinking. She felt terrible for putting Burk in this position. And he had offered to have them ride to the party in a nice warm, well-maintained taxi. But she couldn’t stand there any longer berating herself. She was starting to shiver. She got back into the car.

  “It’s flat alright,” she said.

  “My. What will we do? Can you change a tire? Growing up in New York City I never had a need. They have a reliable subway system. And there was always a taxi.”

  “I think I can change a tire …” She paused to build up her courage.

  “Yes?”

  “But there’s no tire to change.”

  "No tire?"

  “The spare is flat too.”

  “It is?” He sounded truly alarmed. “How do you know?”

  “I had a flat a couple of months ago. I put it into the trunk to get it repaired, but then I didn’t have the money for the repair. I kept telling myself, ‘Next payday.’ But I always seemed to need the money for something else. Then so much time passed that I forgot about it altogether.”

  They sat in somber silence for a while. Car headlights flashed by one after the other as if the little yellow car on the side of the road was invisible. Gina wished she were invisible.

  “We should at least put out some flares to draw the attention of the police,” said Burk.

  “I used up the flares with the first flat.”

  “And you didn’t replace those either?”

  “No.”

  Burk sighed a big disgusted sigh. “Gina, I’m really surprised at you. I can’t believe someone with so much education could be so ill prepared for an emergency. Especially you, being single and female. I would think you would be more circumspect.”

  What could she say? He was right in every respect.

  “I’m really sorry Burk, to have gotten you into this situation. I didn’t think ahead.”

  “No, you certainly didn’t.”

  Gina absorbed his words with pain. She couldn’t possibly feel worse than she did at that moment. But sitting there feeling like a heel wouldn’t get them home, and none of her family would pass by her car until the Conga line and midnight kissing business were over. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock.

  “There’s some kind of business ahead, I can see it," said Gina. "They’re all lit up so I’m sure they’re open. I’m going to walk up there and see if I can use their phone.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, Burk, I don’t think that’s a good idea. The cars are flying down the road and the shoulder is really narrow. One of us will be on the highway and the other will be trying to keep out of the ditch. The slope is bad, and it’s just a few feet from the road. I’ll go alone. It’s only about a ten-minute walk. I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’m going to call for help.”

  “Okay. But be careful.”

  Gina grabbed her thin, fringed wrap and her purse. She locked the door as she got out and then and started down Monterey Road. She walked fast. The rush of cars coming up behind her and the cold made sure of that.

  Soon she was approaching the lone business, a small, dilapidated building surrounded by a handful of cars. Neon letters above the neon martini glass came into focus: EL GUSANO ROJO. Rojo. That was easy. Every first-grader in California knew the Spanish word for red. Gusano? It didn’t ring any bells. Gina looked at the puzzling sign and noted that while the martini glass was old, the Spanish neon lettering above it was new. Obviously decades ago the bar had been owned and run by Anglos; only recently had it become Mexican-owned. She wished she had paid attention in Mrs. Lunceford’s Spanish class. Come to think of it, she hadn’t paid much attention in Mr. Edwards’ Spanish class either. Buchser boys were just too cute.

  She pushed open the door—hoping she wouldn’t have to conjugate any Spanish verbs to make herself understood—and walked into the very old, very dark and smoky bar. Beer posters were hung here and there, all printed in Spanish. At least a dozen pairs of eyes met her own. Suddenly she felt very underdressed. She clutched her wrap a little tighter around her body and approached the counter. Latin music pulsed through the room. She couldn’t make out a single word of it. The only thing she was conscious of was that she was the only Americana in the room. In fact, she was the only female.

  “Teléfono?” she said.

  The bartender stopped pouring a drink for a customer and stared as if she was an alien. Finally he pointed toward the back of the bar, where, between two doors that were obviously restrooms, she saw a pay phone.

  “Gracias.”

  As she said this she happened to look down at the bottle from which the bartender had been pouring. In the dusky bar light she saw what looked to be a worm, a red worm at the bottom of the bottle. The bartender saw her eyes alight on the bottle, and he pointed to it, and then to a glass, indicating that he wanted to pour her a drink from that very bottle. Her instant response was to shrink back in disgust. She shook her head and waved both hands wildly.

  “No, no, no,” she said.

  The bartender laughed and then spoke something unintelligible to a group of patrons at the bar. They all looked at Gina and laughed too. She didn’t need another year of Spanish class to know what these men were laughing about. She wanted badly at that moment to get out of the bar and back to the safety of her car, but she was determined to get the help she came for first. She had no other choice.

  She walked toward the phone, glancing as she did at the Damas sign over the women’s restroom door. She wondered if any women ever came into this cave, but she didn’t wonder about whom to call. There was only one person she knew beside her father who knew all about car troubles and how to fix them. Besides, her father was not at home and she didn’t have a number for the mobile home park. While the phone on the other end rang she turned toward the seating area to keep an eye on the room. They were watching her too.

  “Hello.”

  “Kevin, this is Gina.”

  “Wow! You got bored really early.”

  “That’s partly true.” She sighed. “Kevin, I got a problem. I’m on Monterey Road, at a bar. My car has a f
lat and my spare is flat, too.”

  Kevin’s light tone changed immediately. “You’re in a bar?”

  “Yes, a Mexican bar. It was the nearest phone.”

  “What’s the name of the bar?”

  “El Gusano Rojo. The red something or other.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “No, I’m with about a dozen tall, dark, and handsome Latin hunks having a wild time. The drinks here are truly memorable.”

  “Okay, okay. Stay calm. Give me the address of the party and tell me where you think you are from there.”

  She gave him the information, all the while keeping her eyes on the men in the bar, who kept looking in her direction. A few of them leered, adding to her distress, though most just eyed her with amused curiosity.

  “What size tire does your car take?” asked Kevin.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you know what type of tires you have on your car? Radial? Steel belted?”

  “I don't know."

  "Well, what do they look like?" said Kevin.

  "Black … rubber … round. I have no idea!” Who bothered with such details?

  “Okay. Don’t panic, Gina. I can find that out. Meanwhile, go back to your car and lock your doors. Where’s your date?”

  “He’s in the car.”

  “Then get back to the car as soon as you hang up and stay there. And be careful. I’m coming.”

  “I will. Thanks, Kevin.”

  #

  Gina was relieved when a familiar looking set of headlights pulled up behind her Austin. Burk had lost his enthusiasm to talk about his enzyme research and the exalted Doctor Chalmers, or any other subject, and Gina just wanted to get home, away from the uncomfortable strain that had developed with her date. She hurriedly exited the car to avoid another scene between Kevin and Burk.

  “Thank you for coming, Kevin.” She gave Kevin a genuine smile as they met between their two cars. Suddenly she felt safe. Kevin would take care of everything and soon she’d be home in the light and warmth of her cozy apartment.