Plans Come Together Ch. 01

I'm working on a longer project, but had to stop and write this, because I couldn't get it out of my head. Special thanks to my editors, Alianath Iriad and Lastman416, for their comments and corrections. They really helped straighten me out on this one.

*****

It was the 4th of June. I was nineteen years old. I'd finished my first year of university, and was back (for the second time) at the best summer job I'd ever had. I didn't need a shower after every shift, my hands and my back didn't hurt, and the pay was excellent.

My phone rang, and I heard the haunting chords of Fleetwood Mac's 'Go Your Own Way'. I hadn't listened to that song very often, this past year, but it would be forever associated (in my mind, at least) with Lisa Lejeune, the young lady who was calling me now - that's why I had made it her ringtone. But this might have been the second time she had ever called me.

- "Hello?"

- "Hey Kyle! It's Lisa."

- "Lisa who?"

- "Ha-ha. How are you, guy?"

- "Good, Lisa. You?"

- "Great! Listen: I have a proposition for you."

- "Oh?"

- "Not that kind of proposition." I could picture Lisa smiling, enjoying the opportunity to tease me, as she had done for years.

- "I'm at work, Leece." I said.

- "Cool cool." she said. "Look, I'm back on campus. Would you have time for a coffee tonight, or a beer or something? I can explain what's up."

- "I can be free by 7. Beer sounds better."

- "The Twelve Apostles? At 8:00?"

- "I'll see you there."

The Twelve Apostles was a pretentious pizzeria. But they had a dozen exotic beers on tap (hence the name), and rotated the brews regularly.

Lisa Lejeune. After all this time.

She was sporty, fun, clever, and I'd had a crush on her since Grade 11. I didn't think that I was attracted to redheads until I met Lisa. We sat together in advanced math, and I enjoyed helping her. She had a wicked sense of humour.

God knows where I found the courage, but I asked her out.

She let me down relatively easily, quoting from the friend-zone handbook. I really like you, but ... I hope we can stay friends.

No, Lisa. I'm going to remain obsessed with you, staining my sheets nightly as I fantasize about you. To my surprise, Lisa paid me more attention after that disaster than she had before. It was almost as if she had been barely aware of me at all until I asked her out - but now, I was on her radar, however remotely.

In Grade 12, we shared two classes. She sat on the opposite side of the room, with her besties, but we interacted occasionally. Lisa would joke with me, and tease me. I'm fairly quick-witted, so we shared some fun repartee.

Was she at all curious about me? She had to know that I was still interested.

So I gathered my courage, and asked her to the senior prom.

- "Kyle ... I like you. I mean, I really like you - as a friend."

I understood. She was a 9, and I was a 6 - on a good day. I wasn't popular enough, or good-looking enough to sit at a table at the prom with Lisa's friends. I wasn't rich, and I didn't have a car. Lisa liked athletes, and I'd never played for any of the school teams, because I'd always been at work.

Lisa went to the prom with Roger De Vries. They were an item for about a month after that before they broke up.

Most of our graduating class didn't go to college or university. Of those who did, the majority stayed local. There were only a few who went to Mac (McMaster). I did, because they offered an academic scholarship and a co-op program where I could work and make money over the summer. I'd even made enough during the year to buy an old car. It wasn't glamorous, but it was reliable.

Lisa was one of the few who went there, too, because both of her parents were alumni. They'd met there, and married before they graduated. It was fore-ordained that Lisa would go to Mac, since they were paying her way.

No, it didn't affect my decision. In fact, it might have been better for me if she hadn't been there. I kept my distance from Lisa, but couldn't help running into her from time to time. She would ask if I'd been home, if I'd run into any of our old crowd - I never asked why she called it 'our' crowd, as if we'd been part of it together, on the same level.

Lisa would joke around, and tease me a bit. She'd ask if I was dating - the answer was 'not really'. Somehow she always got around to that subject. Then she'd bat her eyes, and tilt her head a bit, with a little sad smile.

- "You're not still stuck on me, are you?" she would ask.

- "Nah." I would lie. I could have drawn a map of her freckles from memory.

Then she would playfully push my arm, or elbow me, and look at me in that particular way, as if she was saying 'C'mon ... we both know you still want a piece of this'.

God help me, but I did.

I continued to wonder if she was even the least bit curious about me - about what she might have missed. But I suspected that she liked keeping me on the hook because it stoked her ego. If she was ever down, it must have felt good to remember that she had a faithful admirer that still hadn't gotten over her.

Life goes on, of course. I'd been with a few girls, and even got a few call-backs. But none of those encounters turned into a longer relationship. So I had no reason not to go and meet Lisa, and hear her proposition.

She looked awesome, of course. Her red hair was so clean and so thoroughly brushed that it positively shone. She was wearing shorts and a thin summer top over a light bra (it was already unseasonably hot and muggy for June). Lisa was five foot seven, with a slender but perfectly shaped body.

She looked up and saw me, and flashed me a smile, showcasing her perfect teeth. Her Dad was a dentist.

- "Kyle!" She waved me over.

- "Hey, Leece." I sat down opposite her in the little booth she'd commandeered.

- "What'll you have?" she asked. "My treat."

Interesting. That made it more likely that her 'proposition' was some kind of favour, something she needed that would benefit me only marginally, if at all.

I ordered a Weissbier. "So, this proposition of yours?"

- "Right. You remember Bailey Walker." She stated it as a simple fact. Of course I did.

Bailey Walker was the closest thing to royalty our high school had had. Blonde hair (dyed), blue eyes, perfect teeth, perfect skin, gorgeous face, rockin' body ... she had it all. Her parents were loaded, so Bailey wore a different outfit every day of the week, and rarely wore the same thing more than two or three times a semester.

She dated Steve Holmgren, a rich, popular, good-looking guy. He played tennis and golf (he was the junior club champion). Bailey was the Social Queen; together they were the Golden Couple.

Bailey was surprisingly nice. She knew that she was superior, in every way that counted, so she didn't go out of her way to rub it in. She had parties at her house - or mansion, I should say - and invited most of our graduating class. Bailey was pretty good at remembering names, too, which was not something I'd have expected from her. Girls probably envied her, guys definitely lusted after her, but most everybody liked Bailey Walker.

Steve, on the other hand, was an asshole. I worked at the golf club where he and his family were members. You know that old saying about getting a job: it's not what you know, it's who you know? Well, my uncle was good friends with the head groundskeeper at the golf club.

Steve Holmgren would be dressed to the nines, in his golf clothes (who the fuck wears red pants?), while I'd be in my grubby jeans and work boots, with a filthy T-shirt, all dirty and sweaty. Sometimes I'd be driving an ATV, changing the pin locations on the greens, or riding a mower, but most of the work was landscaping. My hands knew the feel of a shovel. It was hard work, and the pay was shitty. But I needed a job, and I had to save for university. It was the golf course, or McDonald's.

I saw Steve Holmgren regularly. He saw me, too - he just never acknowledged me. He did much the same at school. Fair enough. He ignored me; I cordially disliked him. But after this last Christmas, just six months ago, I found a reason to despise him - to actually wish him harm. I'd considered a few options, but most of them could have ended up with me in jail.

- "So Bailey wanted to re-connect with some of the people from High School, you know?" continued Lisa. "There are lots of people she hasn't seen for a while. Like us down here at Mac."

- "She's still with Steve?"

- "Yeah. It wouldn't surprise me if she married him some day, or something. But she said she was tired of always seeing the same people - like Steve's friends. So she got the idea of, like, a mini-reunion, with some of the old gang that went away to Mac. She's inviting us up to her cottage."

I remembered Bailey's cottage. I'd been there once, after our prom. It was spectacular.

- "And she asked you to get in touch with us?"

- "You got it."

- "Why me?"

Lisa frowned. "What d'you mean? You're fun, Kyle. We have a good time when we get together." Lisa liked teasing and joking, and she got a kick out of the fact that I could serve it right back just as well as I could take it.

- "And?" I was hoping that there might be another reason. Maybe Lisa had finally considered hooking up with me. I'd made my intentions plain enough, after all. Could her curiosity be enough to lead her to me? Realistically, though, I suspected that the second reason she was inviting was much less flattering.

- "And you have a car." she admitted.

- "Was that so hard to say?"

- "C'mon ... I really do want you there. It'll be a good time. It's just more convenient if one of the people I invite has wheels."

- "That's your proposition? I drive, and I'm invited?"

- "No - that's not all of it." she said.

- "When? And for how long? A weekend?"

- "That's the beauty of it. Two weekends, plus the week in between. Ten days. Go up on a Friday, come home the following Sunday."

- "You're kidding."

- "Nope. I told you: Bailey is really, really tired of Steve's gang. She wants some fresh blood. Are you interested?"

It would take some doing, to get that much time off. I might have to pull some double shifts before and after. But I was beginning to get an idea.

- "Who else is going?" I asked.

- "Well, that's part of my proposition. You come for the week -"

- "And agree to drive."

Lisa rolled her eyes. "Yes - and agree to drive. But you also get to help me decide who to invite."

- "I don't know if I can get Connor McDavid at such short notice." Bailey wasn't just a hockey fan; she was a hockey nut. It was one of the things she and Lisa had in common; they both went gaga for famous athletes.

- "We don't need celebrities, and we don't have to impress her. Just people she'd remember from school. She just wants a change."

I believed her. Bailey wasn't actually a snob. She did know practically everyone in our graduating class. She was the Queen, and that was her realm. Maybe she wanted to make sure that all of her subjects still revered her. Bailey was attending Queen's University. Maybe she was discovering that she was a smaller fish, there, in a much bigger pond. Was she already getting nostalgic about her glory days in high school?

This was a very interesting situation. Lisa wanted my help in filling out the guest list. In fact, she probably needed my help, because she'd spent first year hanging out with the student athletes - almost all of whom were not from our old school.

Just to needle her, I said "How about Sandra Robertson?"

- "Fuck you, Kyle."

Lisa and Sandra had been rivals since Grade 9. They still were, as far as I knew.

- "Alright. So who are you thinking of?"

- "Well ... I was going to invite Matt. Matt Ryan. He was a year ahead of us. Remember?"

Matt Ryan. Yes, I remembered him. A total meathead, with all the conversational skills of a rock. His vocabulary consisted largely of the words 'Yeah', and 'Party'. But he played soccer and was in great shape. Bailey Walker was a hockey junkie, but Lisa Lejeune liked all athletes.

By some fascinating coincidence, though, she had chosen the one person from our old school that I hated almost as much as Steve Holmgren.

She could read the expression of disgust on my face.

- "Hey - I can invite whoever I want."

- "Yes, you can." Hot, dumb, and without a car. Why on earth did Lisa think that I wanted to be anywhere nearby while she spent the week fucking Meathead Matt? If she thought that I was still hooked on her, why would she inflict this kind of punishment on me? It was downright cruel.

- "So who do you want to add to the list?" she asked.

- "I'll have to figure out if I can get the time off." I said. "If I can, I'll think about who else we could invite. I'll get back to you. How soon do you need to know?"

- "End of the week?" she guessed. "Early next week at the latest."

- "Okay. Talk to you later. Thanks for the beer."

I needed time to think.

Did I really want to spend ten days at a cottage with two guys that I hated? Yes. Yes, I did. An idea was swirling around my head, beginning to take shape. It could definitely turn into a plan - but it would have to be as near-perfect as I could make it.

Could I persuade the right people to come to Bailey's for ten days? One thing I had going for me was Bailey Walker's cottage. It was legendary. Huge. It was more of a mansion, or an estate. There were seven or eight bedrooms, a boathouse with two power boats, and enough canoes and kayaks to outfit the Canadian Olympic team.

The Walker's 'cottage' sat alone at one end of a semi-private lake. I think that there were people at the other end of the lake, but you couldn't see or hear them. In fact, all you really need to know is the name of the nearest village - actually, it was only a small hamlet, but it was called 'Walker's Corners'. Bailey's great-grandfather had owned most of the land for miles around, including the lake.

I'd been there once, when Bailey hosted a massive party after our prom. It wasn't all that pleasant an experience for me; I had to watch as Lisa slipped away with Roger. But I was also blown away by just how big and luxurious the place was.

If I decided to invite the right people, that would be a key selling point. Even if they hadn't been there, they'd have heard of it. Who wouldn't want to spend a week there? Still ... I might have work to do to make the trip appealing for the people I had in mind.

The plan was becoming more solid.

***

72 hours later, I had laid the foundations, and made contact with my own guest list. I called Lisa, and arranged to meet. She chose the same location. I bought my own beer this time.

- "So?" she asked.

- "Hi, Leece. Did you ask Matt?"

- "Yeah. He's in."

I bet he was. 'Party - yeah'.

- "Alright. So I have a short list. Starting with Mike Fisher."

Silence. Lisa was drawing a blank.

"Mike Fisher." I repeated. "My roommate."

- "Ohh ..." she said. "Mike Fisher. I didn't remember his last name."

Mike was a wallflower. Shy. Paralytically shy around women. Too shy to act as my wingman. But we'd grown up next door to each other, and remained friends even though we moved in different social circles. Mike was a card-carrying nerd, while I'd mostly hung out with the stoners. I didn't do drugs (at least partly because I didn't have the money), but I liked the same kind of music they did.

Lisa had no idea who Mike was. Neither would Bailey, of course, but that was all part of the plan. Matt Ryan had a connection with Mike, but there was literally zero chance that the meathead would remember.

- "It would be pretty rude for me to go to a cottage for the week, for a high school mini-reunion, and not tell my roommate. Imagine if he heard about it later, from someone else. Right?"

- "I get it, Kyle."

- "Besides, Mike's a good guy. He won't rub anybody the wrong way." (Unlike the hostess' boyfriend, or your choice of a fuckboy, Lisa).

- "Okay - I said I get it. But that's four guys, and only two girls."

- "No worries. All the rest of my choices are female. How about Diane Pirrie?"

- "Diane?" Lisa's voice rose just a little. "You've got your eye on Diane Pirrie?"

Diane had been our high school valedictorian. But she wasn't a brainiac nerd. Our school didn't simply grant the valedictorian award to the kid with the highest marks. We were allowed to vote for the person we wanted to make the valedictorian speech at our graduation. It wasn't strictly a popularity contest, though: the student in question had to have an academic average over 85%, and also had to be involved in more than one extra-curricular activity. Then they had to win a popularity contest.

Bailey Walker was disqualified on two counts: her average wasn't high enough, and she only joined one extra-curricular group - the Prom Committee.

Diane was smart. She played field hockey, served as Treasurer on Student Council, and ran or joined just about every service club we had. Need someone to run a fundraiser? Diane was the first person you thought of.

On top of that, she was just nice. It's an overused word, and I'm not even sure if it means anything anymore. But everybody liked Diane. She was kind, and genuinely unaware of her own popularity. It was modesty - and it wasn't fake.

Lisa, of course, thought that I wanted Diane there because I was interested in her.

"You and Diane Pirrie? Wow - I didn't see that one coming. I can't even imagine it ..."

- "Who said she was for me?"

- "What? Ohh ... playing matchmaker for your friend?"

- "Mike."

- "Mike. Right. Interesting ..."

- "And Diane has a car."

Actually, this part of my plan was genuine. Mike really was a sweet guy. Plus he'd had a crush on Diane for the better part of four years. If I could bring two nice people together, that would be my good deed for the month (if not the whole summer). Worst case scenario: Mike and Diane didn't connect, there was no spark, and he possibly got over his hopeless crush.

- "Alright. Bailey probably would like a chance to get know Diane. Who else?"

- "Amy St-Pierre."

- Seriously, Kyle? You keep saying that I'm shallow. Amy, though? You're only inviting her for one reason. Or two reasons, I guess."

Amy St-Pierre had extremely large breasts.

- "She's smart, Leece. And she's very nice."

- "Yeah. Sure. That's why you're interested in her. For her personality."

- "I didn't say that I was interested in her. Amy is Diane's roommate."

Lisa didn't answer right away. She miight have realized that while she was accusing me of reducing Amy to a pair of breasts, she herself was doing exactly that.

- "Oh. Yeah. I sort of knew that."

- "Same reasoning as with Mike. You can't invite Diane and not invite her roommate."

Lisa just couldn't help herself. "Whatever you say, Kyle. I'm sure that her mammoth mammaries didn't factor into your decision at all ..."

I will readily admit that Amy's ... attributes hadn't escaped my notice. Her breasts were large. The size of some people's head. On her otherwise slender frame, they stuck out. When I first encountered the word 'incongruous', and learned what it meant, I thought of Amy.

But she was an essential part of my plan - perhaps the essential part. In one sense, I needed Diane to be there for Mike, but I also needed her to ensure that Amy would come, too.

- "You'll be pleasantly, surprised, Leece."

- "Sure I will. Okay. So four guys and four girls. It's a pretty weird mix, if you ask me, but it could work. I guess ...?"

Like me, Lisa was probably picturing the whole week devolving into two completely separate groups. The 'cool' or 'popular' foursome - Bailey and Steve, Lisa and her meathead - hanging out and doing fun, sexy stuff, while the three nerds sat in a corner. What Lisa probably couldn't work out just yet was where I would fit in.