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June 29, 2008
The Darnell & Lorraine Saga...Continued
Lorraine and her pals walked into Trio’s. It was about 10:00 and the place was packed with post-game revelers (who had long ago learned to celebrate their team’s quotidian losses) and a few families that hurried to get their kids out of there before the music and language became too obnoxious. The trio found a four-top and scooped the littered parmesan cheese and dried peppers off the table before sitting down.
“We shoulda gone to the Grog Shop,” complained Patty. “The food’s so much better. And I have a fake ID.”
Lorraine grinned, “Yeah, well I tried to use my sister’s the last time I was in there and got busted, so I have to stay away until my hair grows another two, three inches.”
“You’ll always get carded, Lorraine, probably til you’re like thirty or something,” beamed Alex.
“Thanks, Alex…I think,” said Lorraine, with a squint.
Lorraine looked around and her heart skipped when she saw Darnell in a corner booth, sitting alone, reading the Friday magazine as though perusing for a better place to hang out. She never quite knew what he was thinking. He was an enigma for sure, which made him all the more appealing to her. But he was too old, already in college. What would he see in her – a sophomore, just turned fifteen, a figure like Dorothy Hamill’s (with a close resemblance of her famous bob), barely old enough to date “legally” according to the parental rules? She watched him for a minute. Darnell finally looked up and their eyes met. He gave her a crooked combination of smirk and smile; Lorraine winked back. Darnell sat up and motioned with the universal curled index finger for Lorraine to come thither. She frowned and shook her head and mirrored the gesture for him to come hither.
Neither one moved.
Then, either out of a gallant reflex to free the table for legitimate customers, or his exhaustion from the day’s hegira, Darnell stood up and walked to Lorraine’s table.
“Hey guys, fancy meeting you here. Can I join ya?”
Lorraine reached over and pulled out the chair next to her.
“Take a load off, Darnell,” she said, dispassionately, looking in the opposite direction to appear unfazed.
Alex asked if a large pepperoni would be enough. Lorraine grimaced, wishing there were pineapple on the pizza instead, but resigned herself to peeling the pepperoni off the bubbling pie and dabbing the grease with a napkin.
“What’s wrong, Lorraine, you don’t like pepperoni?” Asked Darnell, between huge bites. He must have been starving.
“No.”
“You want to spice it up?” Darnell shook some dried peppers on Lorraine’s slice.
“Hey!” protested Lorraine. “Whaddaya doin?”
“Try it. You’ll like it,” smiled Darnell. “You should spice up your life, honey.”
Alex looked askance at Darnell. Despite his nerd disposition, his primal male instincts sensed a threat. Darnell was not only older, wiser, stronger, faster and better looking, he was moving in on his girl.
“Lorraine, I think I’d better get you home. You know you have a curfew.”
Lorraine blushed in embarrassment.
“It’s not THAT late. Hold yer horses, Alex. Let me at least finish this dreadful piece of pizza. Kinda goes with the company,” as she sent Darnell a dark glance through slightly squinted eyes.
She was frustrated that both boys were suddenly treating her like a child.
“I’m going to go make a phone call,” she said. She stood up, excused herself and walked out the front door and down the parking lot toward the pay phone at the street.
Darnell and Alex exchanged evil looks.
Lorraine disappeared.
Darnell got up and peered out the front window of Trio's. Where was she goin? He sat back down with Alex. Time for brass tacks. No way was he going to let Captain Kirk ace him out for the girl he had hitchiked back 500 miles to see.
"So, Alex, you're captain of the computer club, right?"
"Yes, indubitably."
"Don't you mean 'incontrovertibly', you twit?"
"I guess."
"So, I was captain of the hockey team, and a National Merit Scholar to boot, and, if I'm not misstaken, we won two City and one State champioships. How'd you guys do?" he snarked.
"Well, we got crushed by Shaker Heights."
"Whatever, no hard feelings. And I'm thinking of getting Lorraine some flowers. What's her favorite color?"
"Dunno."
"Thought so. Good luck."
Darnell just sat back and hoped that Lorraine would return.
Alex and Patty left Trio’s a little after eleven. Darnell sat at the table, listless, finishing the crusts, resigned to the fact that Lorraine had ditched them both. He had to come up with a plan, but he was too exhausted to think. He’d been up close to 24 hours already and was slap happy. He trekked home and fell onto the couch in the living room in a comatose sleep. His mother woke up to his snoring and put a blanket on him.
It was a bright, cold Saturday morning, early November in Cleveland when the weather can vary from Indian summer to arctic blizzards. Darnell debated whether to hike to the rink to join his former team’s practice (they’d love to see him) or think up a reason to call Lorraine. After a breakfast fit for a lumberjack (eggs, bacon, pancakes, oatmeal, grapefruit juice, and a quart of milk), Darnell felt like a new man. He thought he could kill two birds with one stone: ask Lorraine to go skating with him at the afternoon session and he could get in a little workout as well as a little courting. It seemed like a brilliant plan at the time.
He dialed her number. Instead of the ubiquitous busy signal, the phone rang and Lorraine answered it, for a change. Usually one of her several siblings (how many kids lived there, anyway?) bogarted the phone at all hours.
“Hey, Lorraine. It’s Darnell.”
“Yes. Hello. What can I do for you?”
He couldn’t tell if she was messing with him or being polite. One never knew with Lorraine.
“Wanna go skating with me this afternoon?”
Lorraine paused for a few beats. “Sure. I’ll meet you at the rink at 2:00.”
Darnell hung up and began to plot a scheme to get her alone behind the big snow drifts left by the Zamboni. He knew she could skate well enough, but he hoped he could accidentally-on-purpose lead her to the pile of snow and feign a twisted ankle or something. Then her natural nurturing instincts would kick in and she’d let down that cool shell for a minute and feel sorry for him. When she helped him to his feet, he could steal a kiss….
So, Margaret had broken the news that Lorraine was "out for the night", and in a none too friendly or informative way. What, like these girls had their own team and we're just the opposition? OK then, game on.
What to do? Hang around like some chump and wait for her to get back? No way! Wasn't he always first one on the ice? First one to grab a beer out of the trunk of Chopper's GTO in the parking lot after the game? First one to talk to any new pretty face at Trio's?
No way he had any problem with that action. Connie the Cheerleader had practically fainted when he asked if she wanted to go to that party (she wasn't much fun anyway, even though she was kinda cute and perky and top-heavy. When she opened up her mouth he just wanted to run and hide).
But this one, Jeezus, she was just so different. He couldn't quite figure out what she was thinking and he kinda liked that; but, damn, that made it almost impossible to figure out just what to do. And he hated that. What was he, succumbing to some sort of abulia, aphasia, apnea, or something?
He knew he'd find the right thing to do. He wanted to be mad at the whole situation, but he just couldn't. Because, well, the thought of her just made him smile.
Lorraine arrived at the rink and looked around for Darnell. She didn’t want to appear too obvious, so she engaged a friend in a forgettable conversation about trivial events while watching out of the corner of her eye for Darnell’s arrival.
There he is, she thought. Darnell was so competent on skates, adroit, even, and Lorraine felt a little self-conscious at her lack of impressive skating skills, although she could move rather nicely to music in a rhythmic sway with a few skipping steps that looked a little like ice dancing. Her competitive streak withered at the notion of facing an actual hockey player – and a college scholarship athe-lete at that. In her pragmatic way, she decided to keep a low profile on the ice and let him show off if he must.
Darnell spotted Lorraine the minute she hit the ice. He watched her get into a groove with the song, bent slightly forward at the waist, her legs moved with a strong, steady pulse as she gracefully avoided slower skaters without missing a beat.
She’s not bad, he thought, but she’s no hockey player. I could skate circles around her…and I think I will!
Darnell sprinted over to Lorraine and shirred a sluice of shimmering ice on her yellow corduroys as he came to a stop.
“Niiiiice.” quipped Lorraine.
“Hey. Where ya been?” smiled Darnell.
Suddenly, their little reverie was interrupted by Bruce, one of the few decent figure skaters in a town of an endangered species of figure skaters, who cut in front of Darnell with a camelopard move and inquired, “Hi Lorraine! Wanna skate?”
Darnell reddened, stood up straight, and began to roister with jealousy.
“Beat it, Homo!” he growled.
Posted by lorelei at 07:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)June 04, 2008
The Perfect Veep Candidate
Now that Barack Obama has clinched the Democratic nomination, the time has come for him to choose a running mate. Although, Ol’ Piano Legs just won’t say die, contrary to ubiquitous media reports, she will not be on the short or long list for Obama’s Vice President for several reasons:
1. Michelle Obama probably put the kibosh on that idea long ago with something along the lines of “I’m not lettin’ that woman run my house and I sure don’t want Bubba lurking around!" (Or something worse.)
2. Hill and her ilk have done a lot of damage for the party in the last few months, and nobody has that short a memory.
3. The Dems don’t need her to unify the party. They could win with Alfred E. Newman on the ticket. Which leads me to my new brilliant idea: I think I should be the running mate.
Yes, me.
I would make a great, old-fashioned Vice President, kind of like Dan Quayle, but a better speller. I’m too lazy to want to run the country from Darth Cheney’s (soon to be former) bunker, I’d enjoy travelling, I pack light, I like meeting new people, I have lots of black to wear to funerals, I won’t upstage Mrs. Obama The First Lady, Nathan and Lauren could play with her daughters (they are close in age), perhaps Nathan may even marry one of them someday (which would make a great story), and my position on the ticket would bridge a few gaps. For example:
- The whole “elite” myth would be dispelled, since I am average middle class (and unashamed to reveal my tax returns for the past 20 years). I feed my kids Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and I live on Fritos. I’m a mediocre tennis player. I don’t have an Ivy League education. I don’t have a law degree. My baseball team never won a World Series. Nobody could accuse me of being “elite.”
- I come from a Republican city but I worked for the Democratic Party and then became an Independent. All bases covered!
- I'm a 3rd and 4th Generation American and my ancestors represent the backbone of our country: entrepreneurs, builders, people who make the factories run, steel processors, etc. We are ‘merkin through and through.
- I have a really ethnic name that sounds Hispanic. Most of the people voting won’t know I’m NOT Hispanic. I think the bumper stickers can say, “Obama/Serrano Olé!"
- I could attract the single moms, drunks, recovered drunks, addicts and badly married with my interesting history. After these past Republican primaries, nobody with a couple of marriages need worry about running for office.
- As a lapsed Catholic, one-time Lutheran, occasional church-attendee, and familiar with Bible verses, I might close the gap on that fringe religious group. I could go to lots of different churches as Veep and explore all the religions of the country and keep a blog.
- Speaking of Veep blogs, having been an avid blogger once, I could blog the Vice Presidency! A Virtual Veep!
- Since my personal history is already documented on the “Internets,” there will be no skeletons in the closet for Karl Rove to haunt me with. Besides, you know what I’d say to Karl Rove.
- They want CHANGE in Washington, new blood, heck, I’ve never even visited the place!
You must agree that my arguments are sound. I think I’ll propose them to David Axelrod.
Posted by lorelei at 06:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)