“Okay, we don’t have to drink any liquids if you would prefer?”
He was still going on about it, after blatantly flirting with blondie-greenie across the parking lot. After looking at the steering wheel for a moment, I finally looked up at him.
“You really confuse me. I don’t think I get you—at all.”
“Well, why don’t you go out with me and I’ll try to explain myself?” He flashed me another secondhand million-dollar smile. There had to be an antidote to counteract the effects of it, if not, I sincerely hoped that scientists somewhere were working on one.
“I have to work tonight.”
“Work?”
“Yes, I work at JJ and Bruce’s restaurant. I’m going to be late for my shift if I don’t go now.”
Ben’s demeanor changed somewhat as he looked at me like he was trying to figure something out. “You have two jobs?”
I hated this part.
This, right here, was why I didn’t want to get involved with people, because I would soon have to be explaining my sad, poor, pathetic life to them—Yes, I was also embarrassed. Of course I was, we went from living in a modest house in the middle class suburbs, to a rusty, sticky-walled trailer.
“Yes, I have two jobs, Ben.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“Don’t worry. It doesn’t affect my work during the day if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
“That’s not why I mentioned it.”
He put his hand on my door and held it open, looking like he had all the time in the world to have a full-blown conversation with me.
“I really have to go. My shift starts in half an hour.”
“Okay,” he said, finally letting go of the car door and closing it. “Some other time then,” I heard him say as he started walking away.
I quickly reversed out of the parking place and, as I drove off, I looked in the rear view mirror—God, this was bringing back memories of our first night. He waved a tiny wave as he disappeared from sight, and I was struck by a feeling—no, not a feeling,a knowing—this wasn’t going to be the last of him, I wasn’t going to get rid of him that easily.
14. Wimbledon 1967 . . .
The early morning knock on the door sent me flying out of my bed. The first few knocks had somehow incorporated themselves into my dreams, but the fourth and fifth had me jumping. It was freezing, still dark, and I had no idea who the hell was at the door. I was exhausted from my night at the restaurant and JJ and Bruce were probably unconscious. I opened the door and peered out.
“Morning.” It was Ben. It was a perky, enthusiastic version of him dressed in . . .
What the hell was he wearing?
He was dressed head-to-toe in a sporty purple, polyester Adidas tracksuit—of all things decent in this world.The whole outfit seemed totally incongruous to what I was used to. He was also jogging up and down on the spot looking wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. I wondered if I was still sleeping.
“What the hell?” I said in a sleepy voice, yawning in between words. I was too tired and shocked to care that he was seeing me in my pajamas with my sleepy, puffy no make-up face on.
He looked at his watch. “It’s five; aren’t you going jogging this morning?”
“Huh? Jog—” I knew this was going to come back to bite me. “Oh. Jogging. Um . . .”
“Great morning for it!” He sounded fired up and enthusiastic, with his brand new bright orange sneakers and matching headband—who wears a headband? That is so Wimbledon 1967!The sight of him in those clothes was almost more shocking than the fact he was at my house at five in the morning.
“Ben, seriously, what are you doing here?”
He feigned a look of shock. “Look, I know you don’t want to go out with me, but there’s no rule against being friends, right? And you jog, and I need to do some exercise. You’d be doing me a favor, actually.”
“Um . . .” I was still semi-conscious and had no idea what to say to him. I opened the door further and he came jogging straight in with a spring in his step as if he was some kind of gazelle buck.
