One Night Stand, Part 2

Wendy Spicer lived on the second floor of a two story apartment building just a couple blocks behind the IGA store near the Whitworth campus. When she let me in and we were properly introduced, face to face, I started having second thoughts- about not wanting to come, Wendy was cute. She wore bib jean overalls over a long sleeve flannel shirt and pink undershirt. Sort of a lumber-Jill look I guess. Kinda girly. Kinda not. But I approved. She didn't look like my friend Ron at all.

 

Her hair wasn't blond, wasn't brown and wasn't red. It was more like in-between. She called it auburn. Who knows? Not good with colors I'd have to take her word on it. Anyway, it was pulled back in a ponytail and I liked that, too. She walked around in woolly slippers, which I assumed meant we wouldn’t be going out anywhere, but that was okay. Her place was warm, tastefully decorated and felt inviting. It smelled good, too, filled with the smells of homemade beef stew and biscuits. That was also okay.

 

I followed her and the yummy aromas to the kitchen/dining area. It was small and compact and I didn't know where to position myself, so I wouldn't be in the way. Sensing my dilemma, Wendy told me to just sit down at the table as she set it. I did and when everything was ready, she pulled up a chair and we enjoyed a nice supper together. Just as she’d been on the phone, Wendy was easy to talk to in person, and while enjoying her well-prepared home cooked meal, I found myself quickly engaged in a session of light hearted banter, too. 

 

I recounted a thumb-nail sketch of my journey in life so far and she laughed at all of my stupid stories, too. Then she told me a couple things about Ron that made me laugh, and filled in a few blanks from her own story. 21 years old and a graduate of North Central High, Wendy worked as a cashier at the Fred Meyer on East Francis. "I like it" she stated. "The customers are mostly nice, I get to buy things at cost and I like my boss, too. He's, like, twice my age. But I dunno. I think he's kinda cute..." She smiled and her voice trailed off, her focus momentarily elsewhere. I tried to appear indifferent, even though the conversation had just taken an unexpected and disturbing turn.

 

Did she like the guy? Or like the guy? And why should I care?  

Not a fan of split allegiances, I guess I cared because I was hoping for a girl only interested in me. Sigh. Did she even like me, I wondered? So far I couldn’t really tell, although I’d never read women well, anyway. Damn, I needed to get a grip. This had nothing to do with me. I hardly knew this person and was only there because Ron put me up to it, I didn’t have much of a social life and this was a nice change of pace. Anything beyond that would work itself out when it worked itself out- if it ever did- which I seriously doubted. So, for the moment, I decided I didn't care if she had the hots for her geezer boss or not. Not my business. Pass the salad.

 

I worked all this out in my head just in time to hear her change the topic. "Jason's staying overnight downstairs at my girl friends' with her little boy. They're best buddies." I hope my jaw didn't drop. She's got a kid, too?!  What else is this girl hiding? I began feeling seriously annoyed. But not at Wendy; at Ron, for failing to give me a heads up before 'setting me up'. He had to know about Jason. How could he not? I didn't know what to think. Was there anything else she wasn’t telling me?  Though the kid wasn’t a complete deal breaker- wait, there was no deal!- the revelation sent red flag warnings shooting though my brain like fireworks on the Fourth of July. I made no comment, just decided to get through the meal and find a polite way to cut our visit short. 

 

When dinner ended, I helped her clear the dishes. Wendy washed. I dried. But for the first time since I’d arrived, she began to focus her attention back on me. I hoped it hadn’t been that obvious, but I think she sensed some uneasiness in me about her child. She guided me to the couch and sat down next to me and put her hand on mine. "Look, I had to let you know about Jason, just in case, you know, you decide you like me and...." She didn't finish her thought, but snuggled next to me. Goodness, that was quick. I didn't know how I felt about her or her kid, one way or the other. But I didn't move away either.

She was so close to me I detected a hint of alcohol on her breath. We'd had ice tea with dinner, so I wondered if perhaps she'd taken a nip of something before I arrived to settle her nerves (though she hardly seemed the nervous type). Right then, I sure could’ve used some, though. What was it? Gin? Bourbon? I wasn’t sure and it didn't seem to matter; she didn't look or act drunk and whatever she’d consumed didn't affect her speech or movements. It did seem to make her more flirtatious, though.

Wendy nestled her head into my cheek. Her hair had the scent of a spring-washed morning and her freshly washed flannel shirt was soft and smelled like Cheer or Clorox. Or maybe both. Then she lifted up her face and, by the look in her eyes, I think she wanted me to kiss her. No way. I had to be reading her wrong- we'd only just met! Caught off guard, I wasn't sure if I was ready and wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do yet.

It'd been a long time since I’d kissed anyone (and Pam the hockey chick didn't count). It'd certainly been ages since I kissed anyone and meant it. Would it mean something now? Was I being played, overreaching or over thinking? Or shouldn't I just go on impulse? What was I waiting for? I looked at her again. She hadn't yet pulled away and her eyes were closed, so I guess that meant I had clearance to proceed. 

 

But then the phone rang.
 

Wendy opened her eyes, glanced over at the attention stealing device, then back at me. "Sorry. I better get that. I'll be right back". She stood up and, over her shoulder, teased, "Don't go anywhere." I watched her walk away in her little overalls. She had a nice little hiney. For the first time since before dinner, I was glad I was there. I also wished residential answering machines had been more common in 1980, too.

I closed my eyes and sat back and relaxed as she picked up the receiver. However, before my imagination wandered too far off-track the angry voice from the other side of the room snapped me back to attention. Wendy was yelling at someone, actually fuming at whoever was on the other end of the line. Suddenly I felt extremely ill at ease and like a captive stranger in a stranger's house. Sure, we'd just been getting friendly but I didn't think of Wendy as a friend yet either. Sure, we'd just been getting cozy, but 24 hours ago we hadn't even met. And being privy to a one-sided profanity-laced conversation with a party she was unmistakably infuriated with was making me squirm and wanting to bolt.

She finally ended the conversation, slammed the phone down, cursing, and then caught herself and her breath. Rubbing her forehead with both hands, she looked up, apologized and told me to leave---her husband was coming home.

Husband? Yep. Her married to, but estranged from, husband.  Oh, shit.

They weren't together, but when the old man ran out of places to crash he came home. It was sort of an arrangement they kept, for the sake of Jason, she said.  Huh? Anyway, he was drunk, angry, had burned up the good graces of all his remaining friends and the only place left for him to go was Wendy's place. Their place. Their home. And I needed to leave their home- now. ”I don't want anything bad to happen to you", she said, with a fairly believable tone of concern.

Umm, me too.

But a sense of protectiveness seeped to the surface and before I could stuff it back, blurted out an offer to stay. Wendy smiled. ”Aww. That's sweet. But not a good idea. Honey, he’s 6'2, played football, is smashed to the gills right now and ready for bear. He might kill you. So you better go. Don't worry, I can handle him.” She was a tiny thing, and though the husband sounded downright menacing, once positively delighted to be let off the hook, I took Wendy at her word and headed for the door. But did she really call me, honey? Yeah, I think she did.

Wendy kicked off her slippers and laced up some tennis shoes. Then we walked down the stairs to the parking spots outside. When we were away from the building, Wendy let me in on a not-so-secret, secret; she didn’t care much for Bobby. No, way. Really?  “He wasn’t the guy I thought he was and our marriage sure hasn’t been a fairy tale, either. I’ve just gotta get out of it now. Cut my losses. Then I can look for a better alternative, once we get divorced, anyway.”

She sounded really sad. 21 years old with a kid and a failed marriage. I’d be sad, too. I was 25 with no life, except for work, and though not completely friendless, could count the ones I had back then on one hand. And when I thought about that too much, it made me sad, too. Heck, I guess we were both a couple of losers, her less than me, though. At least, she had a husband. Sort of. Me? I was still single and hopeless.  

 

But for about half a second, I wondered if she wondered if I might be the ‘better alternative’. I could warm up to her kid I suppose. However if she was drawn to the “Bobby” type, clearly I wasn’t one of those. Anyway, we’d only known each other for about 90 minutes. One way or the other, she couldn’t have formed any conclusions about me yet; although, without trying too hard I could probably make a lousy, lasting impression in half that amount of time.  Fortunately, the half second quickly passed.

When we got down to where I’d parked, Wendy apologized for cutting the evening short, hoped I wasn’t offended and even invited me to drop by again sometime.”It'll be okay. Just call first. Ya know?” Yeah, I knew. But would likely pass. I wasn’t a prude, just pragmatic. And lacking confidence. And, thought I hadn’t seen her in three years, still in love with Kelly Adams. Crazy as it seemed, she was still my blind spot. I couldn’t see past her, or myself with anyone but her. It’s why I didn’t date. It’s why Ron had to practically dump me in his cousin’s lap, who I’d actually come to like. But compared to Kelly, she didn’t. Nobody could. Anyway, as long as I let Kelly’s memory hold me back- not to mention as long as Wendy remained separated but still married- I just knew there wasn’t any future there. Not for me, anyway.

While all those things ran through my head- overthinking again- I was backed against the car and looking away from Wendy, at some of the upstairs apartment windows, framed with brightly colored lights. It was the Sunday before Thanksgiving and I was impressed to see some of her neighbors already ready for Christmas. My eyes were drawn to the festive lights. In an evening that had turned quickly uncomfortable, it kept me, briefly, from having to make eye contact.

Wendy broke the silence and regained my attention. "Well, before you go at least I owe you this", then put her arms around my neck and kissed me. On the mouth; not quite ten Mississippi’s, but more than five. And it was nice. Nice enough to make me wish I'd seized the moment up in her apartment. Before the phone rang. Nice enough to wish I could forget about Kelly. Nice enough to wish for another. But as I made the attempt, Wendy took a step back and pushed her hands out. “No, you better go now. Bobby’s gonna be here in a few minutes.” Well, that was awkward.

So I reached for my keys and quickly got in the car. I did thank her, though. Very much, I thanked her. I hadn’t been kissed like that in a very long time. Then I started the engine and drove away. I don't even think she waved.  And the date was over. In the days that followed, though, I looked back on this evening with Wendy as my one and only 'one night stand'. For that’s what it was in the most literal sense.

The date had been made at around 1 in the morning, I arrived at her house that same night at 6:45, ate dinner at 7:15 and was asked to leave by around 9, never to return. The whole ‘thing’, the ‘relationship’, whatever it was, didn't even last 24 hours. Of course, I went into it almost dead certain the date with Wendy was a dead end. Nothing was going to come of it. So maybe I got exactly what I deserved. And maybe that kind of negative thinking had something- no, everything- to do with my very lacking social life. But Ron Andrews owed me an explanation.

 

"You didn't ask", was his justification when I brought up Wendy’s kid. Which, of course, was true. I hadn't. But c'mon; why would I?  However it wasn't so much the kid, as the incensed behemoth Wendy was still married to that had me fried-at the very least, Ron could’ve given me a heads-up about Bobby. "Well, I only see her every now and then.” Now he tells me. “I thought she'd dumped him."  Wrong again. But I couldn't really stay mad at Ron. Never could. He just made me laugh too much. And the evening ended with more than decent kiss from a nice looking girl. Can’t shake a stick at that.

However, I never heard from Wendy again. Though she said I could call sometime, I didn’t and eventually lost the scrap of paper with her number on it. Of course, she certainly could’ve reached me at KGA- if she’d wanted to. But I guess she didn’t want to. And Ron Andrews? I saw him last in 1985. He was still the same- goofy, skinny as a rail, fairly odd. We were still both single then, too, but he did not mention his cousin again. Nor did I ask. But I heard he’s dead now.

A friend in Spokane read his obituary sometime back in the mid 90’s. I only found out about it recently because my friend and I didn’t reconnect until last year. Ron and I were about the same age, so in the mid 90’s he’d have been around 40, give or take. Way too soon. But I knew Ron wouldn’t last. He was always sick- or complaining to be-- and certainly always looked it. He couldn’t keep any weight on. I hope he found love at some point, though, and I hope he went easy. But recalling all those crazy years we worked together at KGA, I look back at that time and still fondly remember him as really good guy and good friend. One of the best. Goofy as hell, too.

And, as I suspected, the holidays did suck that year. But its suckiness prepared me for future Christmas suckiness. Away from the cocoon of college, I learned just how cold and lonely the real world can be; and how you sometimes do strange things- desperate things- so that it won’t be. Though my heart still pointlessly belonged to a long lost one and only, who I’d only spent one Christmas with (and who’d likely long since forgotten about me), I went to Wendy's place that night anyway.

I went because, deep down, I knew something in my life was still missing and on that that one particular Sunday night in November 1980, in spite of myself I hoped to find it with a friendly 21 year old pony-tailed stranger, and cousin of Ron Andrews. But all along, I should've been seeking a little baby in a lowly manger. However, I wasn't quite as enlightened back then. I was lost. Yet the experience of my little "one night stand" reinforced how painful the holidays can be sometimes. It prepared me for the suffering that came in future seasons of holiday discouragement; how to endure the pain and get through it myself, and how to be a little more sensitive when spotting others going through the same thing.

And I also learned, the hard way, firsthand, and over several other Christmases, that no matter how frantically I tried to seek hope and comfort in relationships, or things, or long hours of productivity, more often than not what I sought, wasn't in those things at all. There was no there, there. No, the comfort finally came with the realization- though it wasn't a Merry Christmas for me that year and might not be again this year- that it won't be that way every year. For there'll always be hope.

The spirit wavers- and on many occasions, mine has- but hope never dies. And, as the world's been doing for over two thousand years, I will look forward with awed anticipation to celebrating its birth again this weekend.  

I hope Wendy’s looking forward to that, now, too.