Once Upon a Time in Emmitsburg

The days drifted by; hard work, more studying, and an occasional call from one of the girls was my life. The days were getting longer. It would soon be summer.

Mr. Wexler had been quietly watching; it was like he was plotting my final downfall. It was right after Memorial Day weekend, and Mrs. Grummond had been gone a few weeks when the Wexler's decided to hold forth a massive afternoon party. They invited their affluent friends, several of their daughters' college and selected high school friends. Mr. Wexler invited his professional colleagues, several judges and a couple local politicians. Of course, the girls' boyfriends were invited, and last...me. It was something right out of F. Scott Fitzgerald; a Gatsbyesque display of wealth at its most vulgar.

Having had to work I arrived after the festivities had begun. My dented up second-hand Jeep Wrangler stood out painfully among the BMWs, Mercedes, Audis, and other emblems of luxury. As the shindig was advertised as a reward for the girls' accomplishments, I'd brought each one a present; Darla would get a necklace with a gold roundel, and Amber a moderately priced tennis bracelet. I had enclosed a card with each one, and had wrapped the presents myself.

The place was buzzing. The more mature habituated the canopied places near the house, while the younger set, that set to which I allegedly belonged, was headquartered down by the swimming pool and tennis courts. I placed my gifts on one of the appropriate tables and went inside to put on my swim trunks and shirt, something all the other "youngsters" had already done.

I wandered aimlessly among the rich and famous for several minutes. I stopped by the food tables, picked up a Heineken, no Budweiser in these parts, and got my very first taste of real caviar. I thought it was pretty good. Darla and Amber were quite the couple; beautiful as always; dressed in pale colored, eye catching, sarongs that highlighted their insanely beautiful frames. I couldn't take my eyes off them; their hair, their eyes, their beautiful warm smiles. I was back in the tenth grade watching them as they crossed Mrs. Grummond's front lawn in their pretty uniforms not so many years before.

My deep affection, once I thought buried like an old country song, had been painstakingly re-nurtured by the fertile menus of Roadhouse and Olive Garden restaurants. I was beguiled by the fact that I was, once again, and perhaps for the very last time, allowed to stand at a distance and see what I knew I would never be allowed to possess. I thought I hid my agony pretty well.

It was inevitable that I would meet their companions. Darla saw me first. She notified Amber, and together, with their aforementioned masculine counterparts they closed in for what I was sure would be my final humiliation.

Darla went first; her boyfriend was a man named Gary Hesson; I'd met him before, a real estate lawyer like the girls' dad. He was slightly taller than me, not something hard to do. He was a man loaded with self-confidence, intelligence, and oodles of money. He had that sinewy lithe appearance of a panther, and I found out he was indeed a former varsity athlete both in high school and college. He was an avid golfer with a handicap so small I couldn't recognize it, and he was shortstop for an equally famous regional fast pitch soft ball team.

Darla's boyfriend had it all, but he was little league compared to the man Amber showed me. Wren Lassiter, standing 6'6" towered over everyone. He had arms NFL defensive ends would've envied. He flaunted a full beard, pitch black hair, piercing black eyes, and when we shook hands my puny little paw disappeared in his powerful grasp. He said he worked for the Department of Agriculture. He breathed power and confidence like a Nordic God.

And who was I? I stood a proud 5'11'', my poor yellowish hair wasn't properly combed, and I hadn't shaved since the 4:00 a.m. that morning. That hardly mattered since I didn't have enough facial hair to grow a beard even if I let it go six months. Couldn't anyway - army. Weight, I'd been working hard, I'd lost weight. I was down from my hearty 180 to a svelte, no skinny, 160 lbs. I remembered the very first thing Amber ever said to me back when I worked for her grandma was how skinny I was. I did have a warm smile, but that was only acquired after years and years of claiming last place in everything that mattered. I was back where I belonged; king of the losers.

Jesus, I thought, 'What if they started talking, and what if they expected me to know anything?' They did, and I felt like a fool. I didn't know what to say.

What did we talk about? We talked about a lot. We, or they, talked so much we attracted a small crowd. What could I expect? I was in the midst of glory. Tom Brady would have taken a back seat.

The conversation meandered along between real estate values, soy bean futures, and taxes. Both beaus agreed everyone paid too much in taxes. Who could argue with that? They talked about government waste, about too much money being spent on too many frivolous things. I nodded and agreed wholeheartedly.

Wren pushed the envelope and started talking about the hard-pressed American farmer. He cited how large foreign corporations were swallowing all the family farms.

Gary demurred, he said America was rooted in open competition, if America's farmers couldn't compete, they should get out.

I tried to get involved by saying I thought they both had good points of view. They looked at me like I was some fourth grader. I thought I was sunk until one of Darla's college girlfriends opened her mouth. I thought, 'At last familiar ground.'

The girl's name was Phyllis, she said, "Did anyone see the Picasso the Wexler's have in their parlor?"

I started to say something, but Phyllis was on a roll.

She added, "One of Mr. Wexler's partners said Mr. Wexler bought it for his wife when they were in New York a few years ago. Said it cost a fortune."

I stopped everything when I said, "That's not so." I gulped! Did I just step in something?

Everyone stopped. They were all looking right at me. Wren and Gary had the classic smug looks that goes with an unearned birthright. I felt reckless. I went on, "That picture belonged to Mrs. Grummond. Her husband bought it for her when they were in France."

Phyllis said, "Who's Mrs. Grummond?"

Wren smirked, "Really. Do tell."

Gary smiled. Behind him was Mrs. Wexler. I hadn't seen her all afternoon. She was looking at me; the love she had for someone was brimming all over her face. Was it me? I thought, 'Foolish boy. Don't be ridiculous.'

Amber and Darla were watching me. They were smiling too. I asked them, "Who wants to go first?"

Darla kept smiling.

My violet eyed wonder beamed, "It's your show Timmy."

Timmy; she had to call me Timmy.

Maybe one last time, perhaps for the last time, she and I were in sync. Oh it was trivia, but I felt like Mordecai Gist commanding the Maryland Line, holding off the whole British army at the Battle of Long Island thus saving Washington's Continental Army. I said, "Mrs. Grummond was our grandmother, well Amber and Darla's grandmother. She died not long ago. I think of her as my grandmother because I guess I think my life kind of began when I met her. She hired me to clean her house and take care of her lawn."

Wren said, "Like a hired hand."

Amber interrupted, "No, like a grandson."

I thought, 'Amber you're magnificent!'

I went on, "I was a foster child. Mrs. Grummond took me in. She gave me things to do. She gave me responsibility. She believed in me. I did her grass, and she'd feed me lunch. We'd sit on her back porch and she'd tell me stories. Her husband, Dr. Grummond, bought her that Picasso from a shopkeeper in Paris. She said the shopkeeper didn't know it was a Picasso. Can you believe that?"

I looked all around. Everyone was listening to me. Mrs. Wexler had tears in her eyes, she knew all about how her mom had taken me in.

Amber said, "Go on"

Darla said, "Yes, go on."

I went on, "When Mr. and Mrs. Grummond were in Paris they met Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas."

Someone interrupted, "Alice B. Toklas?"

I said, "Yes, the very one. Mrs. Grummond said she even ate some of Ms. Toklas marijuana cupcakes. She said they met all kinds of interesting people. They met Thornton Wilder. Can you believe? Thornton Wilder? She said they'd just missed Hemingway. Mrs. Grummond said Gloria talked a lot about F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda. She said Gloria said it was Fitzgerald who coined the term flapper. She said it was something he said about his wife. I remember back then I had no idea what a flapper was. I didn't know who any of those people were. A couple days later Mrs. Grummond gave me my first book, a bunch of short stories; one of the stories was 'The Short and Happy Life of Francis Macomber'. I read it. Mrs. Grummond became my teacher, my mentor...and my grandmother. That's when fell in love for the first time."

Wren said, "That's some story. Hard to believe."

Amber sidled in, "It's true, every word, and more. Tell Wren who you fell in love with."

Wren grinned, "I'm all ears"

Amber didn't give me a chance. She looked Wren right in the eye, then me, and then she said, "Me. He fell in love with me."

Wren's grin turned rueful, he said, "But you're in love with me."

Amber shocked everyone when she said, "Wren, right now you're carrying the flag, but who can say who'll be at the head of the parade when it crosses the finish line?"

Everyone laughed. Someone from the back hollered, "She shot you down a good one Wren."

Wren reached over and put his arm around Amber's shoulder and pulled her in, "I'd put my money on me."

Everyone kind of nodded. There was some laughter. Darla laughed. Mrs. Wexler tearfully smiled, nodded, laughed, and looked at me. Amber put her arm around Wren's waist and smiled, but like her mother, it was me she was looking at. Yes, she was smiling. She was smiling at me! Why? I didn't know what to think. I bet she was using me to get a dig in on Wren.

The party continued, but I had to leave. Duty called.

Who can say what might happen next? We all live day to day. I remember I used to worry about what people thought of me, then I realized most people never thought of me at all. I did know there was something called raw, unalloyed, agenda-less kindness. I saw it every day. I also knew that concentrating on anything was very hard work for everyone. I was on a raft in a river without a paddle, and I had no idea where I was going. Was I happy? I wanted to be.

A few days after the big Wexler party I got a call from Darla. "Tim," she started, "I need to see you."

I thought, 'Oh no,' but said, "When and where?"

There was a moment of silence on her end, then she said, "Remember the Best Western Plus?"

I did. I said, "Yes."

"I'm getting a room. When can you come?"

I answered, "I'm off tomorrow afternoon."

"For how long," she asked?

"Till midnight," I answered.

She said, "That'll have to do. Your key will be at the front desk. Three O'clock."

I said, "Yes." She hung up. I stopped and thought, 'How can this be? She's engaged...but she's not married, not yet anyway.' I decided, OK, I'd go.

I got to the Best-Western, went to the front desk, got the key card and tromped down the hall. The last time she bailed so I wondered if she'd be there. I opened the door and looked in. She was there.

Darla was sitting over by the window on the sofa. The late afternoon sun played gently on her blond hair and pale pink skin. Dressed in a snow white chemise, a white ribbon around her neck; she looked so fresh and clean. She was beautiful. She saw me and blinked. I smiled, "Hi Darla."

She patted the empty space beside her. I walked over and sat down.

"Timmy," she started, "There's something I have to tell you."

I didn't say anything.

"Tim, Amber and I made a pact back when we were in high school."

I nodded, but still kept quiet.

She paused, took a deep breath and then she said, "I'm still a virgin. So is Amber. We promised each other we'd only give it up after we got married or if we found the right man."

I was disappointed. I'd hoped we'd get together. I wanted her to relax, I whispered, "It's OK Darla. I understand. We can just talk if that's what you want."

With some emphasis she said, "NO, YOU don't understand."

I took her hand and fiddled with her fingers. Her nails were cut short, the same whitish polish Amber wore that I liked so much, "Then tell me."

Still letting me hold her hand she averred, "We both found the right man."

I was stumped. "I don't get it," I said. "What's the problem?"

She pulled her hand away, "You really don't get it do you?"

I sat there, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I knew it would be bad.

She went on, "We both found the same one. We found him years ago. We used to laugh and giggle about it. Him, I mean. That's when we made our pledge. Now we're stuck."

"Stuck," I said. "How can you be stuck? If you've both got the one you want, then go for it."

She put her right hand on my thigh and her left went to her lips. The tip of her index finger went between her lips and into her mouth. She shifted her seat and, looked off toward the window. She exhaled a deep sigh, then she said, "Nobody can be this stupid." She looked at me, hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed me.

I loved her kisses. I went to reach out to pull her close, but she backed away. "You still don't get it Tim."

I didn't know what to say.

She did. She said, "Back in high school we both decided it was you."

In disbelief I exclaimed, "Me!" This had to be a joke, a nasty trick.

"Don't you remember anything," she said. "Remember how all of our girlfriends stayed away from you? Remember how the girls at your school wouldn't go out with you? Remember how they acted like you were going to do something, like something really creepy, or crazy? God Tim, don't you remember anything?"

I sort of remembered, "They thought I was some kind of criminal."

Darla Laughed, "Gosh, we both hoped they did. That's what we told them. Amber and I did our best to drive away every girl who ever met you. Tim, we told so many lies about you! It was like a game. It got to be fun. If one of our girlfriends started talking you we'd make up all kinds of stories. We'd tell them things like you were on parole, that you had to wear an ankle bracelet, that you were a sicko who hated women. Remember when we talked you into wearing that leather anklet? You didn't even suspect. Gee Tim, everybody started thinking you were like Jeffrey Dahmer or Ed Gein; we even had some believing you killed and ate children."

I was taken aback. Who was Ed Gein? "Why would you do that Darla, and who's Ed Gein?"

She laughed again, "We wanted to keep you for ourselves." She grinned maliciously, "And we did too. Ed Gein was some murderer who became the main character in 'Silence of the Lambs'. He used to dig up dead bodies. He even dug up his own mother."

I sat and listened. None of this was true. It couldn't be. Why would she make up anything like this?

She said, "You don't believe me. That's OK. We kept you for ourselves, and we kept you out of trouble."

"Out of trouble." I asked?

"Oh Tim," she said. So many people thought you were some stupid idiot, a moron. We knew the truth. Grandma explained it to us. Remember the time when you almost ran away, but came back? Later on Grandma gave us all the rest of the details. She told us so much."

"Explained what," I asked?

"You know," she said. "Your accident, how you were an orphan, all the hospitals, the operations, that special 'home'. How the Cameron's only kept you so they could look good in front of their friends and also get some money. How you'd been held back, and how everybody thought you were stupid when you weren't. Grandma was smart. She figured things like that out."

I said, "I still don't believe you."

"OK," she said. "You remember your junior year?"

I nodded, "Sure."

"Remember Annie Metcalf?"

I nodded again.

Darla smiled, "Remember how you were supposed to be her date at your ring dance, but she didn't want her parents to know you were her date. Remember how she said you were to meet her on the corner at the top of Briarwood Street, and she'd pick you up."

It was coming back. I nodded again.

She said, "Remember the cars that went by? How they beeped? How Annie never showed up? Remember who came and got you?"

I said, "Amber saw me."

"Amber didn't just see you Tim. Amber was told about the big joke. How everyone would see you standing on the corner all night waiting for someone who would never come. Amber got mad. She got her car, and went and got you. Now do you remember?"

I did remember. I remembered all the kids at school that Monday laughing and asking me where I was that Friday. I also remembered Brandon coming to school, and how he kept walking around talking to kids all that Monday. I wondered what he was doing. I remember asking him what he was doing. I remember him telling me to fuck off. After listening to all the stuff she said I was pretty distressed, "So people were making fun of me."

Darla smiled. I had been mad, but I liked her again; it was one of her real pretty smiles, the kind I'd always tried to get out of her. She said, "That Ring Dance was it. I mean the final 'it'! That was when we knew how we felt. We both loved you. We needed to keep you for ourselves, and we needed to protect you until you grew up."

"Grew up," I said?

Darla said, "Forget that."

I wasn't done, "But what about Brandon?"

Darla shrugged, "Who knows? He was big. Other kids were afraid of him." She shrugged again, "He came that Monday even though he was in college. Amber called him. We never could figure out why he did the things he did."

I was feeling stopped up. My chest hurt. I was getting a headache. I said, "I suppose I should hate the two of you." I thought again, something else came up, "What about Andrew?"

She looked at me, confused at first, then thoughtful, "Oh, you mean Andrew Wernicke. That was before. Grandma hadn't told us anything yet. Andrew had a car and money, and come on Tim, I was only in the ninth grade."

"So," I said, "You just used me."

"I guess so, but," she continued, "I didn't do it to be mean."

I remembered back, all those times I sat in some mall, on some street corner, or outside some restaurant while they were all inside having a good time. I remembered the time I got beat up and lost my clothes. "Darla do you know how lonely it was for me. I loved you. That first time I thought you wanted to go out with me. Can you imagine how betrayed I felt?"

She looked diffident, "You never said anything."

I told her, "I remember how sad and angry I was. Once all of you went to that barbecue place over on Seventh Street. You made me wait outside while you all went in. The place was well lighted. You all sat by a big window. I watched you. I remember it was cold that night, I thought maybe you'd come out and get me. None of you did. You never did. I remember I kept telling myself I should just walk off, go home, but it was so far from my cellar, and besides, I just kept hoping that...maybe. I cried that night. I sat out there in the dark and cried."

She hung her head, "I'm sorry Tim. We...I did think about you. I did feel guilty, a little bit anyway. I'm sorry. I wish I could take it all back. I never liked Andrew. He was such a jerk. All he wanted was to get in my pants."

I had to ask, "Did he?"

"I let him rub me on the outside. He felt me up some, but only outside my blouse. I never let him...you know. I'm a good... I'm Catholic don't forget."

I said, "I should hate you for all you and Amber have done."