Not that we needed the explanation, but Lisa narrated the scene. “So here you are, an elderly Italian couple, here to visit a quaint, sleepy, East Coast fishing village, delighted to hear a lady singer belting out the oldies, only to be hit in broad daylight with a view of a nut sac the size of a Saint Bernard.”
Vince was losing it, trying to hold back, the guaranteed recipe for tears to start streaming down his face. It was ironic; after our indignation at the college boys, Erica and I could barely hold ourselves upright as the crowd attempted to trace the source of the laughter. Of course, we weren’t laughing at Gertie, we were laughing at our relatives. The laughing only got worse when Aunt Aggie went from frozen dumbstruck by the ball sac unfurling before her, to pure reason when she seemed to be bargaining that surely this nut sac would be gone in a second, but no, Gertie needed to select just the right song . . . and this took some time.
The crowd was forced to part when Vince doubled over in an explosion of snorting fits, which made the rest of us lose it, but only Lisa fell backward through an opening in the bushes to roll onto the town hall lawn, in hysterical fits of laughter. Her jacket opened as she rolled back and forth, which of course revealed the slogan on her extra-large t-shirt: “Unless You’re a Pretty Girl, Stop Looking At My Tits.”
Fourteen
Would You Rather Be a Clueless Fruit Or a Blind Date?
“There must be a circus or a theater troop in town,” Aunt Aggie announced. “I just saw some very large clowns riding down the street in makeup and feather boas.”
Uncle Freddie declared, “Those were the sexiest clowns I’ve ever seen,” and Aunt Aggie swatted him with her purse as he giggled.
“Another great dinner!” Dad said, as we left the Front Street restaurant. “So, what are you kids up to tonight?”
Lisa quickly answered for us. “Ah, nothing much, we’re just meeting some friends at a charity thing I got roped into.” This was the first any of us had heard of it, but we knew better than not to play along.
“Sounds like fun,” Dad said.
“I only have four tickets, or I would force you guys to come with us,” she said, shooting me a look for backup.
“Yeah,” I said, “she roped us into it without even asking, and now we all have to go.”
“What’s the charity?”
With impeccable timing, Lisa answered “AIDS” and I answered “Cancer.” We looked at each other. Lisa said, “It’s for people with cancer caused by AIDS.”
“Right,” I said.
“Well, have fun, kids,” Mom said sarcastically as she hauled Dad away by his elbow.
We were surprised to hear that Lisa really did have tickets to an AIDS event at The Vixen, a lesbian bar toward the gallery section of Commercial Street. Normally, this time of year it would be quiet without the summer crowd. Tonight, though, the bar was hopping from the benefit.
“Can we just make an appearance and go?” I asked Lisa. “You know I’ll be happy to make a donation, I just hate these things.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll make a donation,” Lisa said.
“Why didn’t Eddie come with us?” I asked.
Lisa said, “He had a party to go to, where they were playing his favorite party games.”
“I’m not asking,” I said to Vince.
Lisa answered anyway, “The games were, ‘Who’s in My Mouth?’ and ‘Attached By A Dick.’” Erica and I laughed, but for the third time today, Vince’s olive skin turned a sickening Caucasian white.
We entered the bar and every head turned to look at Erica, who remained oblivious as she surveyed the building, turning her nose up at the décor of a typical old New England dark wood bar and four beat-up pool tables with tasseled corners. Lisa disappeared immediately into the crowd, so I stuck close by Erica’s side to hold back the wolves.
Vince whispered to me, “This is the one time I’m glad I’m not with Erica. Most of these girls could kick the shit out of me.”
Erica looked at the staircase leading to the hotel rooms upstairs, “I could suggest a little updating . . .”
“Don’t even. You have your hands full at the camp,” I said.
We found an abandoned cocktail table close to the bar and Lisa showed up with a round of drinks. “This is going to be fun,” she said.
Vince and I exchanged worried looks. Crazier nights had happened without her announcing there would be “fun.” Lisa’s definition of “fun” differed from the rest of the world’s.
Erica finally noticed that so many women were looking in our direction. “Why is everyone staring at us?” she asked.
“Oh, this happens every time I come here,” Lisa answered.
Someone announced a raffle was about to begin and Lisa grabbed my arm and pulled me out of my seat, toward the front of the room. “Where are we going?” I said, looking back at Vince for help.
“Just trying to give Vince and Erica a little time alone,” she said, once we were away from them.
Lisa plowed her way through the crowds, toward the woman on the microphone. The lady running the show nodded at Lisa, but before I could anticipate what was happening, Lisa gave some sort of hand signal and the woman announced into the microphone, “Ladies, this is our first date for raffle. Let’s hear it for Marie Santora!” The room erupted into applause as I glared at my sister, who was in her glory.
I whispered harshly, “What did you do?”
“Only one way to get back onto the horse,” she said. “In your case, I guessed it might make sense to speed things up a bit and let the ladies bid for you.”
“I’m not ready to start dating!” I said, but she ignored me and forced me to turn around.
“It’s for charity,” she said. “Now face the crowd so they can see your goods.” Thankfully, at least the crowd approved.
I grabbed my sister by the arm and hissed, “No way, not doing this. Tell the dyke with the mic it was all a mistake!”
“It’s for a great cause,” Lisa said. “Don’t be such a pussy!”
The woman with the microphone indicated a large bucket near the stage and said, “Place your bids in here, ladies! The highest bid wins a dinner date, and maybe even a kiss at the end of the evening! She’s a pretty one, huh, ladies? Come on, it’s for a great cause, so don’t be cheap!”
Lisa abruptly left my side and, to my horror, grabbed the mic and shouted, “Come on, that’s my sister over there. Get those bids in! Ladies only, of course. You can be anonymous if you want. Let’s hear it, who’s in the mood for a little Italian?” The crowd cheered and laughed as I felt my face turn the shade of a thick ragu.
I wanted to run. I wanted to die—but only after killing my sister. Since there were not too many males in the room, I could easily pick out Vince’s laughter toward the back and thought I was pretty sure I could hear Erica’s laughter coming from that direction as well. Someone handed me a shot and I tossed it back, deciding I had no choice but to go along. So I gave a dainty twirl before grabbing the mic from my sister and yelling: “I’ll never hear the end of it from my friggin’ sister if I don’t fetch a big bid. So give it up, BITCHES!”
The woman took the mic back and said, “Remember, ladies, mark your bids that you want Blind Date Number One!”
One especially tough-looking woman in the crowd moved forward to deposit her bid into the bucket. She winked lecherously at me and licked her lips. I glared at my sister and whispered in her ear, “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“Oh come on, I would have done it, but they said the femmes always fetch bigger bids,” Lisa said.
“You should have told me!”
“You wouldn’t have come.”
“Exactly!” I said.
She slugged me hard on the arm. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ll do your good deed tomorrow night and then get over it. Let’s find Vince and Erica and let’s drink!”
We found Vince at the bar, talking to a trio of attractive young women. One was grabbing his face and saying, “You a
re so adorable. If only I dated men, I would be all over you.” Vince was loving it.
“Where’s Erica?” I asked, and for a second I thought he would answer, “Erica who?” I wondered if it was stupid to hope he’d get over his heartbreak due to some lesbian admiration.
“Ladies room?” he guessed.
Lisa and I said in unison: “You let her go alone?”
When we at last found Erica, she was surrounded by a group of five butchy women trying to get her to play pool. Erica was politely declining, but the women were insisting, begging her over and over, “All you have to do is grab a stick. Come on, just grab a stick—”
“Kind of ironic,” I said to Lisa, and she snickered.
Lisa said, “I’ll distract the big one by talking shit about her pool skills, while you grab Erica and run for it.”
“What could possibly go wrong?” I said.
Lisa moved in like a shark, targeting the largest of the girls, just like you would in a jail yard. She put her arm around the big girl, who made Lisa appear petite, not an easy thing to do. The larger woman bristled at being touched, and straightened up as she turned to face Lisa. I assume that Lisa also noticed that the top of her head was even with the woman’s chin. The other girls turned to watch Lisa and the big girl. The big girl was speaking and had easily pulled away from Lisa’s buddy grip, but then the big girl made the mistake of putting her finger too close to Lisa’s face. (Lisa hated that; I had done that once.) I saw the opportunity and lunged for Erica’s hand, yanking her out of the pool table area like a rag doll.
I didn’t have to turn around to know what happened next. In seconds, the big girl would have to choose either to back down and play nice, or be on her knees to avoid the near breaking of a finger. Been there, played that, and lost.
The big woman yelled after Erica and I, “Hey, fuck youse!”
I could hear Lisa say back, “Youse must be from Rhode Island!” as I pushed Erica along ahead of me.
Erica said, “I thought they just wanted me to play pool.”
I looked back to see the big girl had made the wise choice, since she was still standing as Lisa walked away, and her friends were all making various versions of a What the fuck face. As I pulled Erica across the room, they were finishing up the last contestant and I realized I had forgotten about the bidding, so the announcement over the mic surprised me.
“The woman who got the largest bid for dinner plus a kiss goodnight is Marie Santora!”
I heard Lisa shout from somewhere in the room, “Yes!” like she just coached her team to the Super Bowl.
“Oh, Jesus,” I said.
“Congratulations,” Erica said. She scanned the room at the clientele, “Aren’t you curious who it might be?”
“Curious, no.”
Erica said, “Maybe it’s that woman over there, she’s pretty and she sure is staring.”
“At you,” I said.
Lisa and Vince joined us, and I noticed Lisa was a little out of breath. Lisa said, “I heard the announcement. I hope it’s some big diesel dyke!” and Vince made a valiant effort not to laugh at my expense.
The announcer said, “Sorry girls, the bidder wants to remain anonymous, and with the amount of money she donated, we have to respect her wishes. Would Marie Santora come up to the front please?”
I reluctantly walked up and was handed a piece of paper with a restaurant name and time noted on it. I looked into the crowd and a large woman wearing a Celtics jersey winked at me and pointed to two of her friends. “I can’t do this,” I said to the woman at the mic, and I tried to hand the paper back to her.
“If you don’t go through with it, we’ll have to give the money back, and it was quite the donation.”
“I’d be happy to replace it,” I said.
“It was three thousand dollars.”
“What?”
“Someone wants that date real bad,” she said.
I could have paid. I had the money. But three thousand dollars? Not exactly a small amount of money and I had planned to donate over triple that to a breast cancer foundation. I took the slip of paper from the woman and walked back to Vince, Erica, and Lisa. “I have to go,” I said.
“Of course you have to go,” Lisa said, smirking at me. “It’s for a great cause.”
I said, “No, I have to go because somebody paid three thousand dollars!”
Erica gasped and said, “Holy shit, lesbians are crazy! Straight girls complain when they have to buy their own drinks!”
Fifteen
Why Throwing Poop Is Sometimes The Best Choice
I refused to tell Vince and Lisa where my charity date was so they couldn’t show up to enjoy the show. I’d been through that experience before when our family had traveled to Jamaica and my siblings figured out where my first date with Lorn was after we met at the resort. As uncomfortable as meeting a stranger for dinner would be, it would be nothing compared to having the whole family along for a ride.
Fanizzi’s restaurant was where I was to meet my date, and although I had not eaten there, the Elizabeths had told me it had some of the best food around. It was in the east end of town (so I told Lisa I was heading toward the west end) and I wore my “Just in case we eat at a fancy restaurant dress.” I knew the choice of outfit would make Lisa’s teasing so much worse, but I was grateful Vince was doing some evening fishing with Dad and Erica had stayed in town to shop, so I had to deal with teasing from only one of them.
Lisa laughed when she saw me. “You’re going dressed like that? Your date will probably show up in Nikes and a fanny pack!”
The truth was, I was thinking that very thought as I entered the restaurant, looking to see if anyone appeared to be waiting for someone, but everyone was seated in pairs. Pairs of men far outnumbered the women and a quick survey showed that I was not the only woman in a dress, as there was an attractive woman in a blue dress sitting at the bar. When a man returned to the seat next to her, I cursed to myself. Of course I couldn’t be that lucky.
A moment later, a woman approached me as I waited for the host. She was a short, plump woman in her mid-to-late 50s, smiling up at me with a pleasing face. “Are you waiting for your date?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved that she seemed awfully friendly, though Lisa was right, she was wearing Nikes. She seemed non-aggressive and perfect since I was nowhere near ready to be on a real date.
“I’m Marie,” I said, not intending to sound as relieved as I did. The woman was quite a bit older than me and looked like she could be one of my mother’s younger friends. This is good, I thought, I would know how to talk to this lady.
“I’m Brenda, nice to meet you. I saw you at The Vixen last night.”
“Right, well, shall we sit?”
Brenda laughed said, “Well, you can join us if you wish, but I think your date will be disappointed.”
“So you’re not—”
Brenda said, “No, no, honey, I just recognized you from last night. I’ve been with the love of my life for over twenty years.” She flashed a warming smile. Of course she has, I thought. “My partner would love to meet you, too, since she was with me at the Vixen. She always says I could talk to a wall and I’m always picking up strays.”
“I am feeling very much like a stray at the moment,” I said, laughing with her.
“Well, I would invite you over, but I don’t think you should keep your date waiting. Hell, I know I wouldn’t! You two have a great evening,” she said, and I turned to follow her gaze to see the lady in the blue dress standing right behind me. I was startled at how the lady took my breath away.
I was more startled that the lady was Erica.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her.
“I have a date,” she said.
“You have a date. Let me guess. You’re here with my brother to goof on me?” I said, scanning the room behind her.
“Hey, I paid good money to be here,” she said seriously.
I finally got it. Oh no.
No, no, no. My brother loves this woman.
“Why did you do this?” I asked.
“It was for a good cause,” she said. “I would have donated anyway, business is good, so why not give back? It’s a good tax break, and I may have saved your ass from some biker chick.”
I laughed at her. Then, more serious, I said, “That’s a long list of reasons, right there.”
The host brought us to our table, which was in the center of the window with the best view of the ocean. “Our best table was reserved for you by the Vixen.”
Erica smirked at me. “Money can buy some things, right?”
“You’re right,” I said. “I almost paid three thousand dollars to get out of this date.”
“Glad you didn’t?” she said. Erica’s playfulness was foreign to me, but it also seemed weirdly familiar. Then I remembered that I had witnessed Erica flirt with my brother, and it looked . . . oddly . . . a little . . . like . . . this.
My face must have betrayed me, because she asked me what was wrong.
“Forgive me for being blunt, but you’re still not a—you’re still straight, right?”
“Right.”
I laughed. “Thank God. Or this would’ve been one awkward dinner!”
“Agreed. So, is this place any good?” she asked, and picked up her menu and started reading.
“I hear it’s great,” I said. What an idiot I was to think she was flirting with me. Clearly, being alone for the last few months had taken its toll and I was damaged and in need of some attention, some small victory with a woman well out of my league.
Oddly, this made me remember something I had read about rescue dogs. After too many bad experiences of not finding the living, rescue dogs need encouraging. So once in a while, one of the handlers hide. The dogs find a live body and regain their hope, and then carry on looking for victims. Otherwise, they’d stop; apparently, even rescue dogs can’t cope with too many lost causes. Lorn was my latest lost cause, and for a second I wondered if Erica had been my fake taste of victory, staged not by rescuers but by a lesbian bar, and unknowingly, my sister, who had no idea it was Erica I’d be meeting. Too funny.
Camptown Ladies Page 12
