A Rose By Any Other Name

ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS.

Rose Rafferty dressed as a Flapper for the Halloween Ball at Sylvan Abbey State Teachers College.

Her costume gown was black silk tulle and sheer gray chiffon that looked like wisps of smoke against her white skin. Black, glass beads and rosettes covered the gown. Her shoes were red leather, closed-toe 3-inch heels with silver buckles fastening the ankle straps. Rose's blonde hair was cut in a bob style popular in the 20s.

All afternoon she fretted whether to add a black under-dress for modesty, and whether to define her waist with a red scarf. In the end the scarf was in, the under-dress was out, and the black lingerie beneath the smoky chiffon was in, too.

Buddy, Rose's escort and lover, said, "Baby, you'd look yummy wearing a gorilla suit."

Rose laughed, told him he was "sweet," and called her body "a work in progress."

One feature all agreed on was her eyes: so green they illuminated her alabaster complexion in a dark room. Some mistook the effect for an aura.

Buddy wore a yellow Zoot suit; "You look like a pimp," she said.

She wasn't ready when he arrived, and finished dressing in the car, applying lipstick, eye-liner, and perfume as Buddy drove and jabbered. Peggy smelled like delicious candy, and that aroused Buddy's appetite.

"Looks like a storm is moving in," Buddy observed, looking out the window to mute her stimulation and mask his obsession with her charms.

Rose turned her head to look at the sky, "I think you're right. Did you catch the weather?" She applied mascara to her eyelashes. "No, did you?" He said.

"Not really, I was busy getting ready for the party and barely heard any of it.' Rose hiked the hem of the dress up her thighs, pulled the stockings on, then the garters; Buddy looked at her legs as often as he dared.

"Watch the road, not me!" Her mouth frowned though her eyes smiled.

"Ummm! I was just thinking how even Santa couldn't stuff stockings better!" Buddy squeezed her knee.

"I know what you wanna stuff! and it isn't stockings!" She stuck her tongue out at him.

The Mercedes made short work of transporting them to the college.

Dressed, painted, and parked, Rose grabbed her purse and opened the car door. A brisk breeze erupted, blowing her dress almost to her waist, and pressed the fabric tightly against her breasts, abdomen, and bottom. She squealed, smoothed the fabric back into place with her hand, took Buddy's arm, and went inside the old building.

Sylvan Abbet State's red brick campus was built in the Gay 90s, and the campus conformed to the popular gingerbread Queen Anne Style that dominated the end of the Victorian Era. Rose taught at the college.

At the entrance they passed close to a girl and her companion from the black lagoon. Rose guessed the girl was eight or nine; the child's white silk dress, pink sash, and pink bonnet reminded Rose of the girl Sir Thomas Lawrence painted: PINKIE.

The creature beside Pinkie had a careless languor that rolled lazily. The beast was costumed in sodden, black wool; a leather jerkin blacker than India ink, and corduroy slacks. It wore shoes, and some indeterminate sort of meat bulged between the shoes and the cuffs of the pants. The head, Rose supposed it was, was covered with a mass of long, tangled, red hair. Bloated, limp hands hung from the sleeves of its blouse. Its face, a swollen, pulpy gray-white mass of tissue without eyes or mouth or nose, looked like a blob of Silly Putty.

"Beauty and the Beast?" Rose whispered to Buddy as they walked to the gymnasium.

"What?" Buddy wasn't paying attention to Pinkie or Silly Putty.

"Just like the prom, huh?" Rose asked Buddy as they moved through the receiving line shaking hands and getting stamped like a beef carcass by meat inspectors.

"I don't know, I didn't go to the prom; I had to work." An usherette handed Rose a program and two adhesive name-tags, smiled at no one in particular, then ignored them to chatter with a companion. Buddy and Rose found their table and sat alone. Rose checked her watch; it was 9PM.

"Want a Coke?" She asked Buddy.

"Not really." Buddy suddenly ignored Rose and looked around the building until he saw three of his friends and waved them over to the table; two sat and one hovered over them. Buddy didn't introduce them to Rose. The guys talked football as Rose smiled like a toy store doll.

Then Lisa Walsingham slithered over to the table, loitered silently until the guys left, and parked herself close to Buddy, leaning close to touch his arm with her breast. Lisa ignored Rose, then both ignored Rose.

"Buddy, I think I'll get a Coke; can I get anything for anyone?" She searched their faces for a response.

"Thanks, no," Buddy replied; Lisa dismissed her with a hand wave. Buddy was looking at Lisa dreamily when Rose left.

Rose moved through the congestion of tables and dancers, to the concession stand where she encountered Dr. Peter Parker dressed as a clown. Peter honked his bicycle horn at her. Rose giggled. "You're funny!"

"I'm funny how? I mean, I'm funny like a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh? I'm here to fuckin' amuse you? How the fuck am I funny? What the fuck is so funny about me? Tell me, tell me what's funny!" The impersonation of Joe Pesci was so good several people stopped talking to look for the outburst.

"You kinda look like him, too," Rose smiled.

"I always wanted to be a comic," Parker said.

"A Coke, please," Rose said to the boy operating the concession. "Thank you!" She paid and turned back to Dr. Parker.

"You here alone?" He asked.

"No, my escort is at the table absorbed in a friend. Are you our chaperone?" Rose sipped her Coke and savored the carbonation fizz.

"Yes, but not for long if I do any more Joe Pesci lines!" He laughed.

"So why didn't you become a performer?" She asked.

"Are you kidding?" He laughed.

"No! You're a hoot in class with your impersonations,"she reminded him.

"Entertainers starve! I'll bet I have a better shot at playing pro football than making money clowning; besides, I don't want to pay the dues in a dive with a room full of drunks." The deejay started I ONLY HAVE EYES FOR YOU by the Flamingos. "Care to dance?" He asked.

"Sure," Rose said, then giggled.

"What?" Parker asked.

"Remember the bar scene in STAR WARS? Well! take a look around you!" She said.

"How'd you do on the tenure vote?" Parker asked.

"I don't know," she said.

"They're zombies," Parker explained.

"Really?" Rose asked.

"They hallucinate gods and do what the gods command them to do. Maybe zombie is a tad extreme; trained dogs is maybe closer to the mark. When the god say 'jump' they ask,'how high?" He said.

"They can't be that bad," she said.

"Of course they are! Just like schizophrenics believe their hallucinations and little kids believe in Santa and monsters," Parker argued.

"But I can't believe people just do what they're told to do without complaining or refusing to do it!"

"People are docile animals. Jeez, hardly anyone raised an eyebrow at Hitler," he said.

Rose talked and danced and lost track of time, then remembered Buddy, and looked for him; he was sitting alone at their table sulking and glaring at her.

"I think I'm neglecting my escort," she said to Parker, when the music ended. "Thanks for clearing up my confusion about the methods and madness of tenure."

"My pleasure! Any time," Parker smiled.

"Great! See you soon!" Rose smiled and navigated a course through the people and tables to Buddy.

"I'm sorry, I got to talking with Dr.Parker about something and lost track of time," she said.

Buddy ignored her.

"Look, Buddy, I'm sorry; you were with your friend and I felt like a fifth wheel," she explained.

"Well looks like you found something to keep you busy," Buddy glared at her again.

"Buddy, I'm sorry I offended you; I meant no harm and got absorbed in what Dr. Parker was talking about. C'mon! Cut me some slack, okay? Let's dance!" She offered.

"No, I don't feel like dancing," he pouted.

"Okay; what do you want to do?" She asked.

"Let's go," he said.

"Go where?" She asked.

"I don't know; anywhere." He was out of his chair and walking away before she knew it.

"Buddy!" She called. "Wait!" They left the dance and struggled to the parking lot against a brisk breeze. Buddy lost his hat twice when it blew away; Rose's dress had the same plan for escape.

"Can you believe this wind!" She said.

"Where to?" Buddy asked.

"Take me home," Rose replied.

"No, I want to talk," Buddy said.

"Not tonight, OK?" Peggy suggested.

"Why not?" Buddy frowned.

"I have a busy day tomorrow and I have enough on my plate already. I'm sorry," she said.

Buddy sulked and started the Mercedes. Then followed the brick drive across the campus to the highway, turned right, and merged into the traffic.

"Home is the other way," she said.

"I'm not ready to call it a night," he said.

"I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" She said.

Buddy looked at her briefly, "Not unless you plan to walk."

A mile down the road Buddy pulled in at the Quickie Mart convenience store. The store featured a wall filled with machines dispensing coffee, tea, soda, cappuccino, snow-cones, icee-licious flurries, and soft ice cream. A couple with four kids followed them in. Momma got a gallon of milk and bread, daddy fetched a carton of beer, and the kids swarmed about the candy bins and machines. All were costumed; the oldest, a girl who looked about thirteen, had a conspicuous tattoo on her thigh, a pierced eye-brow, and a tee shirt with printing across the front: A WORK IN PROGRESS at the top, and GOOD TO GO at the bottom. She also had a protruding belly.

Rose brewed a pumpkin flavored cappuccino, Buddy got beer.

"I don't think that's her costume," Peggy frowned and checked the time, 11:00 o'clock.

"Paper bag, please," Buddy told the clerk. Back on the road, the rosy incandescence of emergency flares blossomed out of the darkness ahead. Buddy put the beer on the backseat floor. State troopers and deputies filled the shoulders on both sides of the road, their emergency beacons pulsed.

A large trooper obstructed their lane, hand-signaled Buddy to stop, and approached the Mercedes carrying a large flashlight. Buddy lowered the driver side window. The trooper lifted the flashlight and pointed a large circle of light at their faces, then moved the circle of light here and there around the car.

"Registration and license, please!" He stuck his hand in Buddy's face. His hand was large enough to sit on. Buddy surrendered the forms. The trooper pointed the light at Rose again.

"You, too, ma'am! Where ya'll headed this late with the beer?" Rose passed her I.D. to the trooper.

"To the pier,' Buddy said. 'Is there a problem with having beer, officer?"

"No open containers in the car," the trooper handed back the forms.

The trooper blinded Rose with the beam of the flashlight. "Okay, go on."

Two police cars were parked together at the pier, probably discussing the teen drinking problem or, likely, football. Another car patrolled the area around the pier; Rose saw its spotlight beam moving about. Other cars came and went. Rose and Buddy parked the Mercedes and strolled to the shelter at the end of the pier. The ocean breeze, brisk, salty, and warm, kept Rose busy brushing her hair.

"You need a scarf!" Buddy said, popping the top of a beer.

They were alone and sat silent for several minutes sipping coffee and beer, watching the channel markers blink, and contemplating the lights on boats or ships offshore.

In a short while the wind increased and it began to rain; the air suddenly turned cold and the rain fell in fat gobs the size of nickels.

Buddy broke the silence, "Cat got your tongue?"

Rose looked at him, "The girl in the store reminded me of my situation several years ago."

"So what!' He tilted his head back to guzzle the beer.

"Adolescence is too young to saddle yourself with a baby," she mused.

"I wouldn't know,' he sucked down the beer and fished another from the bag.

Buddy put his hand on her knee, then inched his hand up her leg along the thigh before she grabbed him.

"Not tonight, okay!' She snapped.

"Why not?" His eyes had a dull, intoxicated sheen.

"Because the bench is uncomfortable and there are cops everywhere and I'm not in the mood," she said.

Buddy frowned and emptied the 2nd beer can.

"I'm sorry, Buddy,"she said.

Buddy sulked in silence. "What's the matter?" She asked.

"Sometimes you're a real cunt," he said.

"What did you call me!" She asked.

"I don't get why it's a problem,"he said.

"Because it's late and I don't want to be arrested and frankly I don't want to have sex with you again today." She hesitated before speaking more, "And I hate benches and backseats. And I hate being abused by a petulant child."

Buddy pulled a beer from the bag, sat silent for several minutes, then stood and walked toward the car in the rain, leaving Rose behind.

She waited for a minute then followed him with puzzled eyes but let her comment float away unspoken, "Okay," she said to no one in particular.

Both were silent until they got to the car, "Do you plan to sulk the rest of the night?" She asked.

Buddy looked at her but said nothing as he unlocked the door, opened it, and scooted behind the wheel.

"Let me drive; if the cops stop us you'll go to jail," she reminded him. Buddy pulled his door closed and cranked the engine.

"C'mon, Buddy! Let me in, I'm soaked." Rose pleaded.

Buddy put the Mercedes in gear and drove away. Two blocks away he stopped abruptly, opened his door, threw Rose's purse out onto the wet pavement, and drove away into the night.

Rose stood alone in the rain, water seeping into her shoes, watching Buddy vanish; rain streaked down her face and dripped from her chin. She felt her stomach turn, as she became aware of her solitude and isolation, and felt like she might be sick.

After she walked back to the pavilion she said "Incredible!" to no one, opened the purse, and looked in it for her cell phone. Flipping open the case she saw that her battery was low. "Darn!"

She phoned her daughter. No answer. She left a message for Melissa to come get her, then sat on a bench to wait. An hour later she called Melissa again and got the answering machine again. It was one o'clock. "What happened to all the cops!" She wondered, and grew anxious about her situation. When the rain stopped she removed her shoes and started walking to town.

After 30 minutes she saw headlights on the road behind her. She called Melissa again but got no answer. The car was a Cadillac. Rose stepped off the road onto the shoulder to avoid being hit in the dark. The Cadillac passed close by, sprayed her with water, and stopped a short distance ahead. The Cadillac idled quietly until Rose came to it, then the passenger side window lowered.

A young man looked at her and said, "Are you okay? Look I'm really sorry about drenching you, can I give you a lift?"

"Don't worry about it, I was already soaked. But you can drop me off in town if you're headed that way."

"I'm Jack Grant," the driver said.

"I'm Rose Rafferty," she said, shutting the door.

As they drove toward town Rose jabbered about her crisis, and Jack agreed that Buddy was an immature jerk. Coming to the Quickie Mart, Jack, asked her if she wanted some coffee. "Thank you!" She replied.

The rain stopped and Jack let the convertible top down. The night was quiet, cool, and filled with mist. A full moon shone from the top of the sky, though veiled by the mist.

The drive to town ended in front of her house, and the front door lay beyond a path of stumble-stones, beneath a vine covered pergola.

Rose looked at Jack. "You're a life-saver, thank you so much for the kindness."

"Not a problem," he replied.

"I wish I could invite you in but I need to get to bed," she said.

"Yeh, I got to get to bed, too; school tomorrow," he said.

"Oh! At the college?" She asked.

"Yeh," he replied.

"Well maybe I'll see you there. That would be nice," she smiled.

-----To be continued-----