We went into the kitchen together, each drawing a full cup from the keg. She smiled at me as she raised the cup to sip her beer. I wanted to kiss her right then, before she had the chance to lick away the beer from her lips. I ached for the slender fingers that held her cup to touch me. I wanted to touch her too, and I did, sort of. I just guided her out of the kitchen and into the living room with my hand lightly touching the small of her back.
“By the way,” I said, “have you seen Bill tonight?”
Nancy gulped and pointed her thumb to the ceiling.
“He’s upstairs?”
She nodded.
“What’s he doing upstairs when everybody’s down here?”
“He’s with Susan.”
“Well, what are they doing…oh. They’re upstairs.”
Nancy blushed. I suppose I should’ve been embarrassed too, but I knew Bill. I wasn’t surprised to learn he was upstairs, or in the basement, or in the back seat of his mother’s Country Squire. The big difference between Bill and me was that he never had trouble going “upstairs”. I, on the other hand, might as well have worn a DON’T TALK TO THE LEPER sign around my neck.
A thought flashed through my mind that it might be a nice idea to go upstairs with Nancy, but I quickly dispelled the notion of her and me in bed together. I shouldn’t have even been talking to her. I wasn’t worthy. Here was this smart, good looking, sweet, innocent college graduate talking to the biggest phony in Orange. She was so perfect there could be no way she didn’t already have a boyfriend. I knew that at any moment Mister Captain of the Lacrosse Team would come in and put his arm around Nancy’s waist. And Nancy would introduce him to me. “This is my boyfriend—Bradley Pennington-Smythe of the Newport Pennington-Smythes.”
I was just wasting my time, and hers, by sticking around. There was no sense in getting my hopes up with a dozen or more campus heroes around the house.
“Well, Nancy,” I said, “it was nice seeing you again, but I gotta go.”
“You have to leave?”
“Yeah. I’m tired. Got to get up early. Have to work. See ya.”
I left her standing there with her mouth open. It was better that I left quickly. I put my empty cup on the umbrella stand near the front door. I brushed by two oafs who were standing on the porch and walked down the street to my car. A light rain was falling, and as I got to my pink monstrosity I ran my hand over the fender. House paint didn’t much care about being a part of an aging car.
I sat behind the wheel looking at my pink palm, then at Bill’s house. Something was not right. I should’ve been happy that Nancy would never have the chance to shoot me down. But I had a funny feeling in my stomach, or maybe it was my bladder. It was the same feeling I had when the airplane was about to touch down in Vietnam. I was scared back then, excited, sick. I wanted to go back to the house. I had to go back, didn’t I? Wasn’t it the right thing to do? I needed a sign from Heaven. Anything. A dove carrying an olive branch. A lightning bolt. Paint. That was it! There was paint on my hand! Nancy wants to be a painter! We belong together! But did I have the guts to go back? Cliches rushed into my head: Nothing ventured, nothing gained; Take the bull by the horns; The mail most go through.
I started the car and drove past Bill’s house, turning around at the end of the block. I double parked in front of his house and walked quickly, defiantly up the walk. The same two muscle heads were standing on the porch, watching me approach.
“Nice car, Ace,” one of them said.
I ignored them and went inside.
The noise in the house had died down some as alcohol consumption caused an outbreak of libidinal behavior, leaving very few of the guests standing. I saw Judi with an ‘i’ sitting on someone’s lap on the stairs. She waved to me.
“Did you see Nancy go upstairs?” I asked Judi.
“No. Just Sid and Carol, and Buck and Carol, and Frank and Carol, and Tony and Carol, and…”
“Right. Thanks.”
I went from kitchen, to dining room, to living room, to den, but there was no sign of Nancy. I saw a line of girls waiting to use the bathroom, but not one of them was Nancy. But maybe she was in the bathroom. I banged on the door.
“Nancy! You in there?”
A girl’s voice, not Nancy’s, boomed out, “Beat it, asshole!”
Nancy was gone. Damn!
Then I noticed some people on the screened-in back porch. I walked slowly toward the back door. What were the chances Nancy would be there? One girl had her back to me. Her hair was dark and long like Nancy’s. Her arms were folded in front of her, shielding her from the rain’s chill. I stepped out onto the porch. It was Nancy!
“Nancy?” I said.
She turned quickly around to face me. She looked surprised, and happy.
“Mackenzie! I thought you left.”
“Do you want to go to O’Leary’s for something to eat?” The words just came out. I hadn’t planned on what I would say if I found her, but having said those words I felt instantly relieved. I waited for Nancy’s response. If she was going to reject me, so be it. Let’s get it over with. I can hack it.
She smiled. She was thinking, and I knew exactly what she was thinking. This guy’s lame. He’s a loser. He’s dirty and he stinks and he’s stupid.
“That’s a great idea,” she said.
I led her back through the house, out the front door, and past the small crowd who had gathered on the porch to watch the Incredible Melting Chevy.
Nancy did most of the talking during the ride to O’Leary’s. I had to concentrate on seeing the road through a paint streaked windshield. I don’t know all of what she said, but I enjoyed just listening to the sound of her voice.
We sat at a small corner table in O’Leary’s. We were lucky to get it. We had just beaten the movie and bowling crowd. There were only two chairs at our table so I didn’t have to worry about sharing table space with anyone but Nancy.
Ugly brought us our burgers and beers, and we talked briefly about the Post Office. Other letter carriers were also there and they passed by our table with a quick hello. Nancy told me how glad she was that I had landed a good job and had such good friends. Of course, she didn’t know what my job was really like, and I refused to ruin the evening by telling her what actually went on behind the swinging doors.
Rather than talk about my job, I asked Nancy to tell me more about her plans of being a paper hanger and painter. And she did. In great detail. I was surprised to learn how much a history major knew about color and technique. She was so happy and animated about her dream, that I pictured her someday wallpapering every room in the White House, whirling from room to room, while the President and First Lady applauded.
I couldn’t believe how lucky I was. Nancy seemed to actually like me. I didn’t think I could get any girl to like me. Up to now, Quasimodo and I had the same success ratio with girls. I felt comfortable with her, like I had known her for
