A Fine Kettle of Fish

by Lou Bradshaw

  I was sitting propped up against the car, and my head wanted to rest against my chest, but they wouldn’t let it. Someone kept lifting it up, and then it would fall again. Each trip up was a new Olympic record for pain, and each fall shattered that new record. I was shouting for them to stop, but nothing was coming out. I thought for a moment that I must be dead because I was yelling and they couldn’t hear me. I couldn’t be dead – I hurt too much to be dead. Somehow I didn’t feel dead, but of course I had no idea what dead should feel like. This felt more like a bad hangover with a bad hangover.

  Finally, I was able to say, “NO! STOP!” I guess I’d heard those 2 words so many times from every girl I had ever dated that they just came out naturally. As I started clearing the fog away I became aware of 2 things, first was a terrific headache and the other was that guy was still cussin’ off in the background about his hand. I wasn’t sure what that was all about, but I was hoping the damned thing was busted.

  Little by little it all came into focus, and I was becoming more aware of where I was and what had happened. It seemed that the passenger guy, Tony had expected a whole bunch of us to jump out of the car, and he had intended to create a roadblock at the door. When I stepped out he just naturally took one of those cowboy movie haymaker punches at where he thought my chin should be. The trouble was I was still coming up and hadn’t reached chin level yet. He punched me right square in the forehead; my head snapped back and hit the roof of the car. My brains must have been bouncing and sloshing around in my scull like a pinball because it hurt like hell, and those bells kept ringing. That Tony boy wouldn’t be taking pokes at people in the dark for quite a while, hell, he wouldn’t be writing his name for quite a while.

  What that whole incident was about was a girl. The sister of the driver, and he wanted Nick to quit seeing her. Nick had already quit her about a month earlier, but she was still tossing his name around to piss her brother off – it worked. That Tony guy was just along for the adventure. He had never had a fight in his life but had seen a lot of movies and thought it looked like fun to hit someone. Funny thing about those big guys, they generally don’t fight much – they don’t have to. They usually get away with a bluff, and most folks don’t push it. It’s those little buggers, the ones like banty roosters who do more fighting than anybody, They’re always trying to prove how tough they are and are ready to fight anything that moves.

  So far, there was a ringing headache and a damned sore hand, so we called it a draw and headed back to Dog-N-Suds. When we got back to town, Nick told everyone that I was his hero and how I had saved his butt from a beating. He knew the truth that I thought the rest of the town was behind me, but he appreciated the gesture. I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt like a punching bag, but I couldn’t let a friend down.

  Mickey came up with the excuse that his newly and professionally tuned car wouldn’t start, and I guess the others were all planning to ride out with Mickey.

  * * *

  Mickey – Mickey –Mickey, sometimes I wondered why I didn’t take that boy out and dump him like some folks do with excess dogs and cats. He’d never have found his way back. Every time I expected him to be there, he came up missing.

  I’ve known Robert Allen Jones (Mickey) all his life, and he’s always been part of my life, sort of like a third arm, one that doesn’t work too well and isn’t hooked up to the brain in a conventional manner. I knew he looked up to me, and maybe that’s why I had never killed him somewhere along the way.

  He was a tall nice looking kid. By that, I mean he was taller than me, but a lot of people were. And, as far as his looks are concerned, well at least everything was where it was supposed to be. He had brown hair and brown eyes; otherwise, he looked pretty average.

  Somehow when they were putting him together they must have left some stuff out or put it in upside down. Not stuff like livers and spleens but stuff up between his ears and behind his eyes. For instance, you could trust Mickey with a secret, not that he wouldn’t blab it, but what he blabbed would be the biggest pile of bullshit you ever stepped in and bore no resemblance to the original secret. You couldn’t even use him to spread rumors because you couldn’t predict what it would be when he got through with it. He didn’t even know why we called him Mickey. He thought it was because he swung the bat like Mickey Mantle in little league. Actually, it was because he squeaked like Mickey Mouse every time he got a hit, and with a 0.072 batting average it wasn’t that often.

  Chapter 9

  I had a pretty significant headache for the next couple of days. My mom bought the story that Mickey let a wrench slip and whacked me in the head, after all she’d known him a long time. You couldn’t keep something like a fight at the overpass a secret from Brick; it was just too small of a town. The story got around school so Nan knew, but we had a new respect for each other, and she wouldn’t say anything. Therefore, Mom was saved some worry.

  Spring was in full blast now. Trees were leafing out, grass was turning green, and birds were yellin’ all over the place. In other words my high school days were numbered, and it was about damned time! There was a lot going on during the early part of May. I was still working after school and on weekends, I turned 18, registered for the draft, and I was teaching William how to drive in my spare time. If you can remember your first driving lesson, then you have no idea what it was like. But if you can imagine putting a person from the middle of the 19th century in the front seat of a Ford and a V-8 engine just a gas pedal away, then you’re getting close.

  Luther Bates was still coming through on a regular basis. Once he had a Negro woman with him. She was tall and really put together but kind of frayed around the edges. She made me think of an Austin Healey that had been run into the ground. He told me on the side that she was an ex-prostitute and was going to Kansas City to work for one of the car dealers there. The way he made it sound was that she would be a secretary or a mechanic or something. Well, I wished her luck because I knew how hard it was to give up wicked ways. I made a mental note to take some time and think about Luther. That whole setup seemed a little strange to me, but I guess I just didn’t know a lot of stuff.

  * * *

  One of the rituals of spring that I never understood was the Junior/Senior Prom. The things that go along with the prom I understood, like dancing all night, staying out late, getting a little buzzed, and even getting a little…. It was the dressing up, the flowers, and the formality that I didn’t understand. It must be girl stuff.

  Our prom was scheduled for the 21st of May. The school people had long ago devised a plan so that everyone with less than 2 heads had a chance at a prom date. There could be no one from the outside or from an underclass. In other words, ONLY juniors and seniors from Doubling Township High School could attend. If a guy was dating a sophomore or someone from Rogersville, he was S.O.L.

  To get around this, you would work out a deal with another couple in the same predicament. You would switch dates, go to the prom, and meet up afterwards. This was the plan, but who?

  Cynthia took care of the details and the arrangements. She worked out a deal with Mary Ellen Whitaker of all people. The little princess was dating James Millsap, Doc Millsap’s son. James was a freshman at Drury College in Springfield and a regular Troy Donahue. On paper it looked like a pretty good deal, but in reality it stunk. Mary Ellen was cute enough, but a complete ding-dong. We’ve been in class together since kindergarten, and I’ve listened to her babble and chirp about nothing for 13 years. Her whole existence revolved around cheerleading, and homecoming queening, and being a trendsetter. I think she was what might be called superficial, and I didn’t relish the idea of spending 2 or 3 hours with her in a tux (I would be the one in the tux).

  True to her nature she babbled and twittered right up to prom day. I wasn’t exactly a part of her inner circle, but she suddenly found reasons to speak to me about nothing at least 4 or 5 times a day. She didn’t have anything to say but that didn’t seem to matter to old Moe Ellen �
�� she just kept chattering. I would just smile and let her talk. There was no way that I could follow what she was saying, so I didn’t try. I really didn’t care what she was saying. I had plans for after the prom, and they didn’t include Miss Homecoming Queen Whitaker or Mr. James, I’m Cool Enough to Make Ice by Touching Water, Millsap.

  My plans had only to do with Cynthia Smith, me, and a room I had reserved at the Kentwood Arms Hotel in Springfield. Actually, it was a luxury suite; 2 rooms and a bath. It cost me 36 bucks, but it would be money well spent if things went the way Cynthia was leading me to believe they would. I had my hopes up for one hell of an evening.

  Since almost all the schools within a 70-mile radius of Springfield had proms in May the larger hotels were having after prom parties every weekend. They had bands playing almost all night in the ballrooms, and they rented rooms for private parties. About the only way you could get liquor at these parties was to flask it in, but if you got caught you’d spend the night in the Greene County Jail in your tuxedo.

  Well there I was standing at old Moe Ellen’s front door in a white dinner jacket, black pants with a shiny stripe, a bow tie, cummerbund, and a white ruffled shirt. I was damned slick, if I do say so myself. I had Brick’s two-year-old Dodge all washed and shined up. It wouldn’t do to go out on such an occasion in my eleven-year-old Ford coupe.

  Mrs. Whitaker opened the door all bubbly and giddy. It wasn’t hard to tell where Mary Ellen got it, but I steeled myself and went in. The house was something else, probably no bigger than ours and in as good a shape, but it was very nicely furnished. There were carpets on the floors, wall-to-wall, nice furniture, and everything looked like it had come from a magazine. The entrance hall led to the living room on the left and a dining room on the right, and there in the middle was a stairway leading up to a landing. The stairs hugged the wall to the right, and the banister was to the left with carpeting all the way up. At the bottom it flared out and the banister curved out. The whole layout looked very finished and very well done. I guess the cow business wasn’t as bad as some would let on, at least not in this case.

  Of course, Mary Ellen wasn’t ready, so Mr. and Mrs. Whitaker set about to entertain me. She was nonstop chatter, and he was as fidgety and ill at ease as I was. Since this wasn’t a real date, I didn’t have to go through the third degree, anyway, they already knew all about me. Everything except that I had been stealing their gas last winter; that almost made me chuckle out loud.

  Mrs. Whitaker finally got up and said, “I’ll go check on Mary Ellen.” That was a signal for him to get the movie camera ready. In few minutes she came back and said, “Here she comes.” So we went out to the hall. She had a Polaroid, he had a Bell & Howell Super 8, and I had James’ box of flowers.

  We all stood looking up the stairs, and then she appeared on the landing and paused before she started down. I don’t know how else to put it – she was BEAUTIFUL! I had never seen anything like it. Cameras were whirring and clicking, flash bulbs were popping, and I was sure that I heard the theme from the movie Picnic playing. I guarantee that Kim Novak never looked that good coming down the stairs. I couldn’t believe that this was old Moe Ellen Whitaker.

  She was dressed all in light blue and kind of shiny smooth; her dress was long but not flouncie. It sort of found her curves and formed itself to them without being skin-tight. It was low cut but not bulgy. One shoulder was bare and the other had a strap over it. I found myself wanting to take a bite out of that bare shoulder. Compared to Cynthia she had smallish breasts and hips, but to my eyes, they looked just the right size. There was some trim on the dress, which I couldn’t describe if you held a gun to my head or my butt.

  I may have mentioned that she was cute earlier but that was when she was in school clothes, with a ponytail, and bobby socks. There wasn’t a ponytail to be found anywhere. That thick dark auburn hair was…done! There was a little make up around her blue eyes that made them jump out and get ya. Around her neck, she wore a gold chain with a pendant made of a blue stone that somehow did something to her eyes that made the whole thing work.

  I stood there like a dumb assed moron unable to move or speak; all I could do was sweat. I wasn’t even sure if I was breathing or not. She finally reached for the flowers and asked, “Are these for me?”

  All I could think to say was, “My God Mary Ellen, you’re beautiful!” I was rewarded with a slight bow of her head and a courtesy. Mrs. Whitaker broke the spell with a nervous little laugh, which brought me down out of the clouds to about tree top level. Then we had to endure the full blast of picture taking. First, standing in front of the mantel together, then separately, then handing her the flowers, with her mom, and on and on. I think the Whitakers were very very proud at that moment, and that was okay – they should have been.

  When we finally escaped the flashbulb barrage and got out on the road I lit up a cigarette, to my surprise she pulled out a pack of Salems and a tiny lighter and lit her own. I was looking at her from the corner of my eye, trying to think of something cool to say, and all I could come up with was, “I didn’t know you smoked.”

  She sort of laughed and said that she was a social smoker. Then she asked, “Did you mean what you said back there?”

  “When?” I asked.

  “When you said I was beautiful.” she answered coloring up a little, and kind of shy like.

  “Lord yes!” I blurted out, “I’ve never seen you looking like this. In fact, I’ve never seen anybody look so good in real life, only in the movies.” She really was a princess.

  “Thank you, Lee, I really appreciate that.” she said with a kind of earnestness in her voice that was as out of character as her appearance was to her usual ponytail and school clothes.

  “Why, I’d have to rate you up there with a ’57 T-Bird; great lines, beautiful, and totally unique.” I told her.

  “Huh?” she said with a puzzled look on her face. So, I explained how I rated girls and women as sports cars, with Corvettes and Jaguar XKEs being tops. Off to the side in a completely different category, but nonetheless at the top was the ’57 Thunderbird. It was destined to be a classic, but Ford only got it right one time and that was 1957 – that was what made it special.

  She said that was about the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her, and then I was the one who was doing the blushing.

  By the time we got to the gym, we were pretty much comfortable with the situation and with each other. We made our grand entrance just like royalty, which I guess she was since she was a candidate for Prom Queen. We danced a couple of dances together, and she was a pretty good dancer, she anticipated my every move and turn – it was very pleasant.

  We both knew everybody there, so we began to mingle; after all it wasn’t a real date. I made it a point to check on her from time to time just to make sure she was okay and didn’t need anything. Actually, I think I just wanted to look at her. As it turned out, she didn’t get crowned Prom Queen but was first runner up. I was afraid she would be upset because it was the first time that I could remember that she hadn’t been the queen of everything. I caught myself wondering why I should even care if Moe ding-a-ling Ellen Whitaker was upset, but I did care and that surprised me.

  After the coronation of the king and queen and the royal dance, then the picture taking of the whole court, she came looking for me. “I’m feeling rather social.” she said. “Let me get my purse then maybe we can go outside for a little social smoke.”

  When we were well away from the front entrance and the chaperone eyes of Mrs. Schneider and Mr. Logan, I lit her Salem and my Lucky. Then I ask her if she was all right. She exhaled into the sky and said, “Yeah, I’m okay. You know that’s the first time in my life that I didn’t win, but for some reason, I really don’t care. It seems like I just closed a door on a part of my life, and now I’m ready to move on to another part. I’m ready to put away this Miss Popularity phase and go on to the next phase whatever that may be.”

  “I’m glad you feel that w
ay,” I said, “because I’d sure hate to see any kind of sorrow on that face tonight.”

  She leaned over and kissed my cheek and said, “Thanks, Lee.” After a minute or two she asked, “What say we jus keep going, unless you want to go back in there?”

  “Hell, I didn’t leave anything in there, and if I did, they can have it.” We just got into Brick’s Dodge and headed for Springfield, and the after prom party at the Kentwood Arms Hotel an hour early.

  On the way, we talked about the past 13 years and former classes and former friends, and in general got nostalgic. She asked why we hadn’t spent much time with each other in the past few years. I couldn’t tell her that for the past couple of years I thought she was a complete squirrel, so I said, “Well, we probably just went in different directions. You know how it is, we were all maturing at different rates, and I guess you just out grew me.”

  She accepted that but said that she shouldn’t have let it happen; that she shouldn’t have let anyone get away. She also said that she had always admired the way I remained loyal to my friends. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Like the way you stick with Mickey. Most people would have set him adrift a long time ago.”

  “Oh,” I said, “Mickey’s okay. You just have to be aware of the fact that Mickey can and probably will let you down. Anyway, he needs all the friends he can get.”

  “That’s what I mean,” she said, “and what about getting your brains scrambled trying to back up Nick Drago?”

  “Hey, there wasn’t anybody more surprised than me when I found out that I was all alone out there. I thought half the school was behind me. I just didn’t think that they wouldn’t be. All I knew was the Donuts was about to get the hell stomped out of him if someone didn’t get out there.”

  “There you are.” she returned, “You acted out of loyalty to a friend and assumed that every one else was playing by the same set of rules.”