The Obstacle Course

by JF Freedman

  “I’m sure you two young people will have a lot in common,” Mrs. Wells went on. “You’re both so … creative.”

  I looked at her like she was a Martian or something. Where the hell’d she come up with that? She hardly ever gave me the time of day, normally, she didn’t know jack-shit about me, unless she meant the model building. For some reason, though, she was trying to make me look good to Melanie and her grandparents.

  “How charming,” Mrs. Prescott said, in her singing tone of voice.

  Admiral Wells had his hand on my back, like a father does when he’s proud of a son—not that my old man’s ever done it with me, but I know how it would feel. He looked at me, and although he didn’t actually wink like he’d done earlier—he couldn’t with all these other people around—I felt like we were sharing a secret. It was a good feeling.

  “Let’s get you good people a drink,” the admiral said to the Prescotts. “I’m sure the youth contingent will find things to talk about,” he added, giving me a good hard look. Then he and Mrs. Wells led the Prescotts to another part of the house, and suddenly there I was, standing alone with Melanie.

  I looked at her. She looked away, blushing again. I kept on looking at her. There wasn’t anything else I could do to help her out except walk away, and I couldn’t do that.

  She forced herself to turn back to look at me. As I watched her I started feeling sorry for her. I mean, okay, her grandfather was a famous war hero, and she was probably rich as hell and all that good shit, but I knew as sure as God made little green apples that this girl had never had a date in her life—not with a boy who really liked her for herself, instead of having to because his parents knew her parents. She was standing here in front of this strange boy, who I’m sure didn’t look like any boy she knew, not with my hair, which is cut modified Elvis-style, its shape held firmly in place with a healthy dollop of Brylcreem (“a little dab’ll do you”), my Flagg Brothers bombers, and all the rest. I was dressed in nice clothes and everything, but she had to know I was not her style, like I knew she wasn’t like the girls in my school.

  It took some of the edge off my inner worry, knowing that she was as nervous as I was, as out of place and scared.

  “That’s a pretty dress,” I told her, giving her a smile. One of us had to say something, and I knew she’d never be the one to talk first.

  She blushed again. “Thank you.”

  “Pretty fancy,” I said.

  “It was my grandmother’s choice.” She wet her lips. She had nice, full lips. “I don’t usually dress like this,” she added, like she was apologizing for it.

  “Me neither.” My eyes drifted back down again—I couldn’t help it. This time she caught me, and did she ever blush then! I forced my look back up. “I mean I’d look pretty silly in a dress, don’t you think?”

  She giggled out loud, covering her mouth so nobody would hear. “That’s funny,” she said, giggling again.

  “Yeah, I’m a regular Jackie Gleason,” I told her. “Hey, Ralphie babe,” I said, imitating my dad’s buddy Fred Gash imitating Ed Norton.

  Man, that about cracked her up. She started giggling like crazy, burying her face in her hands so she wouldn’t be embarrassed. She embarrassed easily, that was obvious, with all the blushing she’d been doing.

  “That is funny,” she said, when she’d finally gotten the giggles under control. “Really funny.”

  “Ralphie babe,” I said again, in my Norton voice.

  She grabbed hold of my wrist as she laughed again.

  “Don’t,” she begged, “people are watching.”

  I glanced around. No one was paying us any attention at all.

  “No, they’re not,” I assured her. “Anyway, what if they were? What’s wrong with laughing?”

  “I don’t like people looking at me,” she said. “It makes me self-conscious.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll quit.” I liked that, that she admitted she didn’t like being looked at. One thing that was nice about this girl, she didn’t know it was uncool not to be cool.

  She looked up at me without blushing this time.

  “Are you from around here?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  “No, I’m not from around here.”

  “Oh.” She paused, like she didn’t know what to say next. “How do you know the Wellses?”

  “Me and the admiral …” I corrected myself: “the admiral and me … and I … we build models together. Ship models. I met him in a model shop.”

  That threw her. She wouldn’t know anything about models, so she didn’t know what else to say.

  “What about you?” I asked, keeping it going. “Do you live near here?”

  “Around the corner. On California Street.”

  I was right—she was rich. California Street was one block over, with houses as big and fancy as the Wellses’.

  “Pretty fancy,” I said.

  She blushed again and stared down at her feet, which gave me another chance to steal a quick look at her tits.

  “It’s just a house,” she said. She had this habit of apologizing for everything. Maybe it was because of me—she had to know I didn’t come from any place like California Street, not even close. “Where do you live?” she asked. The way she asked, it was like she didn’t want to because it wasn’t polite, but she was too curious not to.

  “Ravensburg,” I said, fast and low.

  “Oh.” Like, where the hell is that?

  “It’s in Prince Georges County.”

  “I know where Ravensburg is. Do you have a farm?”

  I’d have bet a million dollars she’d say that. That’s what people think when they think about Ravensburg, if they ever do think about it. Years ago it was farms, before World War Two, but there aren’t hardly any farms around anymore; the ones that’re left are pretty small places, not big enough to make a living from. If you want to farm now you have to move farther out, Bowie and Largo and places like that. But she wouldn’t know that, all she knows about Ravensburg is if you’re from there you’re a farmer. This girl has probably never even been in Prince Georges County in her life, except to drive through it on the way to Annapolis or the Eastern Shore.

  “No, we just have a plain old house.”

  “Oh,” she said again. Then she smiled. She had a nice smile, it lit up her whole face. “I’ve always thought it would be fun to live on a farm. I love animals.”

  “Me, too.” Of course, I’ve never had any. She looked like a farm girl. I could see her out there in the barn, milking the cows and shit. I knew one set of tits I wouldn’t mind milking, I thought, looking at her. That’s what Burt would’ve said if he’d been here.

  We stood there for a minute without talking. I’d been doing it all and I didn’t feel like it right then. I felt like the first time I’d come here with the admiral; that I didn’t belong. That people could look right through me and see that I didn’t.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Roy,” Melanie said suddenly, looking at me right in the face. “I was afraid I’d be the only person here under fifty.”

  “Yeah,” I said, surprised that she’d said something on her own, “I know the feeling.”

  “Sometimes I feel like a fifth wheel,” she went on, “being at these parties with all these old people. I like the people, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t spend very much time with my friends, except when I’m in school.”

  “Don’t you have other kids living on your block?”

  “None my age.” She hesitated. “My parents are divorced. I live with my mother but most of the time my grandmother takes care of me. My dad lives in New Orleans. I hardly ever see him.”

  Shit, I thought, that’s a bitch. Not that I’m all that crazy about living with my own parents, but the way she said it, it sounded so sad. She really was a poor little rich girl, like in the stories.

  “I’ll bet it’s fun where you live,” she said. “Do you go to public school?”

  “Ravensburg Junior Hig
h. Next year I’ll be in high school.”

  “I wish I went to public school,” she said. “I hate where I go.”

  “Where?” I asked.

  “National Cathedral School. It’s an all-girls school.”

  That explained part of it, the part about being shy around boys; although she’d be shy anywhere, it’s who she was.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” she asked me then, out of the blue.

  “Um …” Damn, she sure was getting forward all of a sudden!

  “I’ll bet you do,” she said real fast, not waiting for me to answer. “A boy who looks like you has to beat the girls off with a stick.”

  “Sure,” I laughed. “Millions of them.”

  “Do you have a steady?”

  “Well …” I thought about Darlene. I’d asked her to go with me, but she couldn’t because of her mother; but I knew I wasn’t going to date any other girls, not seriously, anyway.

  “It’s none of my business, is it?” she said, before I could come up with an acceptable answer, one that wasn’t an out-and-out lie but didn’t hurt her feelings, either. “I don’t know why I even asked, it’s rude.”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “You don’t have to answer.”

  “Well, I don’t,” I told her.

  “Oh. I thought you would.”

  “Nope.” I could tell that she liked that I wasn’t going steady with anyone. “How about you?”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t date. My grandparents wouldn’t like it. They think I’m too young to date.”

  Talk about different worlds. I’ve been dating girls since sixth grade. Everybody does where I come from.

  “It’s hard at an all-girls school,” she explained.

  “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

  “Anyway,” she said, her voice dropping down to a whisper, “you can’t date if you’re not asked.”

  Talk about feeling like shit. I’d been feeling sorry for myself and here was Melanie with a lot more to feel sorry about than I did, even if she was rich and had a set of knockers as big as Kathryn Grayson, that actress in Showboat.

  I was about to tell her I knew plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind taking her out, which wouldn’t have been a lie, not with those knockers, but Mrs. Wells came back into the room from wherever she’d been and called out: “Dinner, everyone.”

  I made sure Mrs. Wells was seated, the way Admiral Wells had instructed me. She smiled at me as I pushed her chair in.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Roy?” she asked.

  What was I going to say? “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Isn’t Melanie nice?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Her grandparents are our closest friends. We think of her almost like a daughter.”

  I didn’t know what kind of answer to make to that, so I just sat down with the other guests.

  Dinner was served in several courses, starting with soup made out of carrots, which sounds crummy but which was actually very good. The table was real long—there were twenty people sitting at it, counting Melanie and me, tall candles were burning in silver candlesticks, and dozens of flowers stuck out of big vases. I was nervous, eating with all these fancy people. There were more knives and forks at my individual place setting than my whole family all put together has at our meals.

  Mary the cook and the other colored girl waited on us, starting with Mrs. Wells. They would stand next to you and you’d serve yourself out of the bowl or plate. I watched Mrs. Wells like a hawk and imitated everything she did, how to serve and what knife and fork to use. The food was really delicious, the prime rib especially, which was by far the best roast beef I’d ever eaten, but I was so nervous about not fucking up that I didn’t enjoy it as much as I would have liked. The only good thing was that because I was a kid, nobody paid any attention to me.

  I looked across the table from time to time at Melanie, who was seated at the other end, near the admiral. She talked to some of the people around her a little bit, but mostly she just ate, like me.

  I got through the meal without making a total ass of myself, meaning I didn’t spill anything or burp out loud. After dessert, which was this incredible ice-cream dish that was set on fire before it was served, Admiral Wells stood up and raised his wineglass.

  “To good friends,” he said.

  All the other people raised their wineglasses. I looked over at Melanie, who was picking her glass up. We had the same kind of glasses, except we had grape juice in ours instead of wine.

  “Hear, hear,” some of the men said. I swear to God, the whole thing was like out of a movie.

  “Cigars and brandy in my study, gentlemen,” Admiral Wells announced.

  Mrs. Wells looked at me, so I got up fast and pulled her chair out to let her stand up without knocking it over.

  “Sherry in the living room for the ladies,” she said.

  Everyone started moving out of the dining room. Mrs. Wells turned to me.

  “Did you enjoy dinner, Roy?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I told her, “it was delicious.”

  “Good, I’m glad.” She smiled. “Your table manners were exemplary.”

  That’s a word I haven’t gotten around to learning yet, but it sounded like I’d passed muster.

  “It’s a lovely evening tonight,” she continued. “Perhaps you and Melanie would like to take a walk, instead of listening to the old fogeys prattle on.”

  It was more than a suggestion, the way she put it. “Yes, ma’am, that’s a good idea.”

  “Take your time. You can let yourselves in when you return.” She put her hand on mine. “She’s a lovely girl.”

  It was warm outside. Melanie and I walked along the quiet streets. I didn’t know whether to hold her hand or not. She probably would’ve liked it, but it might’ve scared her, so I didn’t.

  “This is my house.”

  We were standing in front of a big old stone-and-brick house, all dark inside.

  “It looks nice,” I told her. It was pretty awesome, to tell you the truth, as awesome as the admiral’s.

  “My mother’s in New York,” she said. “I’m staying with my grandparents. That’s why there’s no lights on inside.”

  “Must be nice, living in a house … living here,” I said. I didn’t want to come on too much like a hick, gawking in front of a big old house. Like a farmer, the way she’d thought of me when I first met her.

  “It is nice. My mother travels quite a bit, so I’m not here all the time. But it’s nice.”

  How’s about if you show me inside, I thought. You could show me your bedroom and you could whip off that stupid-looking old-lady’s dress and you could show me your titties and I could show you the best time of your young life.

  “I’d like to show you the inside,” she said. For a minute I thought she was reading my mind—“but there’s nobody there, we don’t keep live-in servants since it’s just my mother and me.”

  “Do you ever see your father?” I asked. As soon as the words came out I wanted to bite my tongue off. She’d already told me he didn’t live around here, maybe she never saw him. Maybe he was dead, not just divorced.

  “Hardly at all,” she said in this sad voice. “He’s a lawyer, sometimes he has business up here. He’s argued before the Supreme Court.” She looked up at the empty house. “He doesn’t get along with my grandparents, his mother and father. Ever since he walked out on my mother and me they’ve disowned him. He left my mother for his secretary,” she continued in a low voice. “My grandfather hates him.”

  I really didn’t want to hear this. Why can’t you keep your big yap shut, you dumb shit, I said to myself. I could tell she was feeling bad about it, the way she was talking low and looking up at the dark house, her own house she couldn’t even go into. So without even thinking about it, I took her hand.

  Her hand felt nice. It wasn’t sweaty or mushy the way some girls’ hands are, it was soft but firm. She immediately held on tight. I knew she’d wanted m
e to do it.

  “Do you live with both your parents?” she asked. She was looking me right in the face. She really was pretty in the face, with the moon shining on it and everything.

  “Oh, sure. And my sister.”

  “Is she younger than you?”

  “Older. Two years. She’s in eleventh.”

  “That must be nice, having a sister. And living with both your parents.”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I said, lying like a rug. If she ever met my family she’d have a hemorrhage.

  “What does your dad do?”

  “He’s a printer … he owns a printing shop, a printing press actually, it’s the biggest printing press in Prince Georges County. That’s why we live there, because that’s where his business is,” I went on, piling one lie on top of the other. I didn’t want to, the way she was looking at me she wouldn’t have given a shit if I’d said they were bank robbers, but I couldn’t help myself. I was a fish out of water around her and her grandparents and the admiral and Mrs. Wells and I was ashamed of it, I was ashamed of my parents who fought all the time and my old man who got drunk and fucked around and beat up on my old lady and everything about my family.

  “You sound like you have a great life,” she said.

  I wanted to crawl under a rock somewhere. This girl had it knocked—okay, so her parents were divorced—but still, she was the one with all the money and everything, and here she was envying me.

  She squeezed my hand. “I like you, Roy. I like you a lot.”

  I swallowed. “I like you, too, Melanie.”

  “I mean I really like you.”

  Jesus, she sounded like Darlene. The funny thing was, I believed Melanie more.

  “That’s really … that’s good, that we like each other.” Shit, I’d gotten in this too deep.

  “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve heard Admiral Wells talking about you, to my grandparents. He says you’re going to Annapolis, that he’s going to sponsor you.”

  My head went light when I heard that. I swayed on my feet, holding onto her hand.

  “He’s a great guy, the admiral,” I managed to say.

  We started walking again. I needed to let my head clear. This whole evening was happening too fast.