The Obstacle Course

by JF Freedman

  “And some socks, too,” he added, “something that covers the calf. A gray should work.”

  We’d been down in his basement earlier in the day, working on a model. I’d been over his house the last three weekends, since that first time he’d brought me there. It was great: we’d work on stuff together, and then talk about Annapolis and the Navy. The admiral talked to me like a regular person, not the way I’m used to being talked to by a grownup. Like two friends talking.

  He’d turned to me, down there, and said, “By the way, you’ll be staying for dinner tonight. Mrs. Wells is having some people over and we want them to meet you.” Then he’d looked me up and down. I was wearing my usual, jeans and a sports shirt. “We’ll have to get you some clothes,” he’d said, “we dress for dinner.”

  “I don’t have any money,” I’d stammered, scared to death. He must’ve thought I was rolling in dough, the way I was always buying models and stuff. “I mean on me.”

  “This will be my treat,” he’d informed me, in this particular tone of voice he has. When he talks that way you don’t argue with him, you just do it. It’s the way he talked to the men in his command, I’ll bet. He never yells or anything, but you know that’s the way it’s going to be.

  “That one looks better, I think,” he said now, confirming his choice with the salesman, who obviously agreed to anything the admiral wanted—meaning the tweed jacket, which I had put on. “How do you feel, Roy?”

  I looked at myself in the mirror. It was a cool-looking sports coat, I had to admit. The only sports jacket I’ve ever owned was one my mom got me a couple years ago when we had to go to her baby sister’s wedding. It was from Robert Hall and didn’t fit very well. This one fit me like a glove.

  “Yeah, I like it,” I kind of mumbled.

  “That’s the one, then,” he said, smiling his approval. He smoothed the back of it. “It’s a good fit, don’t you think, Arnold?” he asked the salesman. “Even the sleeves.”

  “Like it was tailored,” the salesman agreed. He was the kind of salesman who would agree with whatever the admiral said, I could tell that right away.

  “It’s a good thing,” the admiral said, “because we don’t have time to have it altered. All right, then, shirts. Button-down. A white and a blue, I think.” He turned to me. “The blue one will be good for a more casual occasion. You’ll wear the white tonight, of course.”

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I nodded in agreement. It was his money; I was just along for the ride.

  We waited while the tailor cuffed the pants. When they were finished, the salesman handed the admiral the bill. Admiral Wells signed it without even looking at the amount.

  “Now we’ve got you properly attired,” he smiled, winking at me. “You’ll knock all the ladies dead tonight.”

  “You’ll be sitting two places to Mrs. Wells’s right,” the admiral told me, “you’ll pull her chair out for her when we enter the dining room, and after she’s seated you will seat yourself. Are you clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir.” We were upstairs in his private dressing room, getting dressed for dinner. Admiral Wells and Mrs. Wells both had their own dressing rooms. They had their own separate bathrooms, too. It was like being in a Cary Grant movie.

  At least I wasn’t wearing one of those monkey suits. The admiral was all gussied up in a tuxedo, with a starched white shirt, gold cuff links, and shoes that were made out of patent leather, real shiny. They looked like ballerina shoes, I swear to God. He looked at me watching him getting dressed, and smiled.

  “Do I look foolish enough?” he asked.

  “No … I mean …” He did look pretty silly, but I wasn’t about to say so.

  “I feel like a trained ape,” he said, “but once in a blue moon I have to do this, to please Mrs. Wells. Going formal is her idea of a good time, don’t ask me why. Generations of inbreeding, I suppose.” He looked me over. I was wearing all my new clothes. The only old stuff I had on was my underpants and shoes.

  “We should have done something about your footwear,” he said, grimacing at them, “but your feet will be under the table most of the time. All in all, I’d say you look damn good. Damn good.” He winked at me like he’d done in the store, like we were sharing a private joke.

  I was pretty nervous, but I was excited, too. I’d never had dinner with Admiral and Mrs. Wells before. Whenever he would bring it up it would turn out they had to be somewhere else, some fancy party or something. Mrs. Wells was always nice to me, but I had a strong feeling that eating dinner with me was not at the top of her list of have-to-do’s. That’s why I was really surprised when the admiral had told me, earlier that afternoon, that I was going to be one of the dinner guests tonight, and that it was Mrs. Wells’s idea. Mrs. Wells was with us in the study when he’d said that. I’d looked at her to make sure that this was for real. She’d smiled at me and said, “I hope you like your prime rib rare, Roy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I’d told her, “that’s my favorite way.” I didn’t know what she was talking about, but if that’s what they ate, it was fine with me.

  We went downstairs. I followed the admiral around as he poked his head in the kitchen for a minute, talking to the colored cook about the dinner plans. She was wearing one of those gray-and-black uniforms like in Gone With the Wind.

  “That smells fabulous,” he remarked as he opened the oven door and stuck his head close. That’s what prime rib was, I realized—roast beef. It smelled great. I’ve only had roast beef a couple times in my life, it’s too expensive for us.

  “Get that nose of yours out of my cooking,” the cook, whose name was Mary, scolded at him, laughing like they were the best of friends. “You’ll get your supper soon enough.”

  “Not soon enough for me. I’ve got to do my dog-and-pony show first.” From the tone of his voice it sounded like they were sharing a joke, in a way that he’d never do with his own wife.

  Mary looked over at me.

  “This the boy you been telling me ’bout?” she asked him.

  “Yep. Roy, come over here and say hello to the best darn cook in all of Washington, and Maryland and Virginia, too.”

  “Oh, get on with you.”

  “It’s the truth,” he told her. “Why would all of our friends be trying to steal you away otherwise?”

  “Get on with you, Admiral Wells.” She was practically giggling like a schoolgirl, she was so tickled by his flattery. It was obvious they liked each other a lot.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen a white person have a normal conversation with a colored person. I know that sounds weird, being raised in Maryland and all, but it’s the truth. It wasn’t the way I’d thought it would be, being in the same room with one and talking regular-like.

  She caught me staring at her.

  “Hello, there, Roy,” she said. She wiped her hand on her apron and held it out to me. I shook it. It was soft and hot, from being in the kitchen. “I hope you like old-fashioned southern cooking,” she said.

  “He’ll love your cooking,” the admiral said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I like it fine,” I said. I don’t know why I called her “ma’am,” since she was a colored person, but she was older than me, older than my mom probably, it seemed the right thing to do. Nobody I knew was there, they’d never know.

  The guests started arriving. They were as old as Admiral Wells, some even older. The men were all dressed up in tuxedos like he was, or else in full-dress military uniform. The ones in uniform were all admirals or generals: each one had enough fruit salad on his chest to fill a trunk, while the women were all dolled up in fancy dresses, fancy hairdos, and tons of makeup. They wore jewelry, too; real stuff, diamonds and pearls. Nobody told me it was real, but I could tell.

  “You look sensational, Sadie,” the admiral said to one of the women, “a picture of beauty.” He took her hand and kissed the fingers, like she was a queen.

  “You’re the last real gentleman, James,” the woman an
swered, “even if it is absolute malarkey.” Talk about a thick southern accent! She must’ve been from Mississippi or someplace like that. “Your wife is the only beauty left. The rest of us make do with camouflage and girdles.”

  He laughed at that, and introduced me.

  “This is Roy Poole,” he told the woman and her husband, “a recent and valued acquaintance of mine. Roy is going to be joining us for dinner tonight. Roy, General and Mrs. McClain.”

  I shook his hand and then hers—there’s no way I was going to kiss it, she wouldn’t have expected it anyway, not from a kid. She was wearing enough perfume to overpower a skunk—there’s no way I’d ever explain that smell on me to my folks. I’d lied like a rug already, calling them up to tell them I was spending the night at Joe’s, then having to call Joe to make sure and cover for me in case they called over, like if somebody died or something.

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” I said.

  She smiled at me, kind of a blank smile, like she hadn’t actually said hello to a kid my age in twenty years.

  The admiral greeted each couple as they arrived. They were all ex-military and their wives, all important people. He introduced me to one and all, like I was his new best friend.

  “Why aren’t you in uniform, Jim?” joshed one of the men, who was himself in the full-dress uniform of a two-star Army general. “You like Ike, don’t you? You’re not a closet Stevenson supporter, for God’s sakes?”

  “I like Ike fine,” the admiral answered, “but I’m retired now. I wore the uniform long enough. Let the men doing the fighting wear it. I’ll save mine for Armistice Day.”

  The man who’d asked the question looked put off by that. Admiral Wells saw he’d embarrassed the guy and quickly changed the subject.

  “Let me get you one of my Manhattans,” he said. “I know you love them.”

  He led me back into the kitchen, where he pulled a gallon jug out from under the sink. It was filled to the brim with whiskey.

  “Saves me from having to fix up a fresh batch every ten minutes,” he explained. “This crowd loves their bourbon.”

  He lined up a bunch of cocktail glasses on the sink, filled a cocktail shaker with ice, and stirred a bunch of the whiskey and sweet vermouth up in it. He poured the drinks into the glasses, and dropped a cherry in each one.

  “Juanita,” he called to the other uniformed colored maid in the kitchen, who was helping Mary with the cooking, “would you put these on a tray and serve them? We have a bunch of thirsty guests out there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “A southern military crowd,” the admiral informed me. “Best drinkers in the world—to hear them tell it.”

  I went back into the living room—and saw why the admiral and Mrs. Wells had wanted me to be at their dinner tonight. This old guy and his wife were coming in the door. They were a lot older than the others, from the looks of them, both all gussied up, the woman in a dress that came down to the floor, dripping with jewelry around her arms and neck, the man in an admiral’s uniform. I almost shit a brick when I saw the epaulets on his shoulders—the guy was a bona fide four-star admiral. He was obviously too old to still be on active duty, but he was a heavyweight, no question, heavier even than Admiral Wells.

  Meeting up with some four-star admiral wasn’t why I was there, though. They had a girl with them about my age, dressed up like a teenage version of the older woman, long fancy dress and all.

  That’s why Mrs. Wells had asked me to dinner, I realized; not because she was dying for my company, but so this girl wouldn’t be the only kid there.

  I watched the girl from across the room as she hung onto the old woman’s arm. I don’t know who was leaning on the other more, her or the old woman, but I could tell she was feeling pretty uncomfortable, being the only kid in a group of old folks. So she thought, anyway.

  Then she saw me. Her face changed real fast: from surprise, to not knowing what was going on, to being shy; all in about three seconds. Even though I’d been the only kid there until then I hadn’t been feeling all that weird, because the admiral always made me feel comfortable, like a regular person, not a dumb kid.

  For a second, though, I did feel kind of shy, seeing her seeing me, but I got over that fast. For one thing, I’m not very shy, not usually. For another, I could tell by looking at her that I was cooler than her. She might have more money than me—if she was with these people she had to—but I knew more things, I’d been around a lot more.

  She turned away. I kept looking at her. For one thing, she was kind of cute, in the face anyway. She wasn’t some raving beauty or anything, but she was definitely okay in the face. She didn’t have any makeup on, and all the girls in my school, all the cute ones anyway, wear makeup. This girl wore her hair in long ringlets like out of Little Women or something, and she was a bit of a porker, to tell the truth. I don’t mean she was a sow or anything gross like that, but she definitely had packed away her share of groceries. Kind of like a big farm girl who happened to be rich.

  What she had that kept my eyes glued on her, though, was not her face or her old-fashioned hair or any of that other stuff. This girl had big tits—really big. Darlene’s were great, but these titties were definitely bigger, monsters practically, even bigger than my sister’s.

  “Here’s someone I’m sure you will enjoy meeting.” Admiral Wells was suddenly next to me, his hand on my elbow guiding me across the room towards the old four-star admiral and his wife and the girl.

  “Sherman and Helene, let me introduce Roy Poole, the young man I’ve mentioned to you. Roy, this is Admiral Sherman Prescott and Mrs. Prescott.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir,” I said, “it’s a real honor. You, too, ma’am,” I added hastily, shaking in my boots.

  Admiral Sherman Prescott was famous, I’d read about him in lots of history books about the Navy, he was one of the most important admirals in the entire Atlantic fleet, almost as important as Nimitz or Halsey.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Roy,” Mrs. Prescott said, holding on to my hand for dear life. Her hand was bony and dry, the way old people’s hands get. My grandma’s hand is like that. You can practically feel all the individual bones in these old ladies’ hands. “Your mentor has told us so many lovely things about you, I feel like we already know you,” she added. She sounded like a little bird, she practically sang when she talked.

  By “mentor” I knew she meant the admiral. I glanced back at him. He was smiling like the cat who ate the canary. It was kind of strange-feeling, that he’d been talking about me to people. I didn’t know how to take that, even though it was a compliment. Still, it gave me a funny feeling.

  “Yes, a pleasure,” old Admiral Prescott kicked in. He had a deep voice, the kind that makes you sit up and listen. A good voice for an admiral.

  “And this is Melanie Prescott,” Mrs. Prescott said, pulling the girl forward, towards me. “Our granddaughter.”

  “Hi,” she said. She blushed a little.

  “Hi,” I said back to her, forcing myself to look at her face, because if I looked at her tits she’d probably blush so hard she’d break a blood vessel, and besides I was already getting a boner. That was all I needed, a boner in front of this girl and the admiral and all his guests.

  “Melanie is in the ninth grade,” her grandmother told me. She said it like she was trying to fix us up or something. I had the distinct impression, in fact, that Admiral Wells and her had talked about this girl and me. Not fixing us up directly or anything, but getting us together and seeing what happened.

  “What grade are you in, Roy?” Mrs. Prescott jumped in right away. She wasn’t shy about sticking her nose into other people’s business, that was obvious.

  “I’m in the ninth, too.”

  “Isn’t that interesting,” she said, with a tone in her voice like I’d said something real clever and witty.

  As she prattled on I couldn’t help but take a peek at Melanie’s tits pushing against her dress. Man, was that a
mistake! My cock immediately sprung to life. I put my hand in my pants pocket to try and cover it up. If anybody looked down, I was dead meat.

  Strictly by accident, Mrs. Wells saved me.

  “Ah, here’s Beatrice at last, making the grand entrance,” Mrs. Prescott exclaimed, looking towards the staircase. “As usual, the belle of the ball.”

  Everybody turned and looked as Mrs. Wells walked down the staircase. Unlike the other women, who were all dressed like they were going to a big formal affair, she was wearing a simple black dress that came just below her knees. She had hardly any makeup on, and the only jewelry she wore was one string of pearls. But she was the prettiest woman there, by far. My throat got dry just looking at her.

  Mrs. Wells moved around the room, kissing everybody, getting kissed back in return; just on the cheek, not on the mouth, men and women both. I’d seen that kind of stuff in the movies but I didn’t know people actually did it in real life. There were a lot of things about people like this I didn’t know anything about. It made me feel sort of clumsy, knowing I wasn’t like them. Actually, it scared the shit out of me, if I thought about it. What was I doing here, really? I was a fish out of water, a dumb hick from Ravensburg, and I knew it showed. I figured the best thing to do was keep my mouth shut as much as possible and watch how these people acted.

  “Hello, darling,” Mrs. Wells said to her husband as she finally got around to where we were standing. The kiss she gave him was different from the ones she gave everyone else, more like a nuzzle on his neck. “Sorry I’m late, it takes me longer to get ready than it used to,” she said with a smile. She turned to Admiral Prescott and Mrs. Prescott and gave them each kisses. “Helene. Sherman.” Mrs. Prescott kissed her back. The admiral shook her hand.

  “I see you two have met,” Mrs. Wells said to me then, looking from me to Melanie.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I told her. “Just now.”

  “Melanie’s a special favorite of ours,” Mrs. Wells told me, as if Melanie was invisible, instead of standing right next to her.

  I looked over at Melanie. She was blushing up a storm.