Chapter 23 (first draft)
No Booze, No Drugs
The weekend was a blur, with a few exceptions. I crashed in homes I had never been to before in Princeton. A change of clothes, and my contact stuff were tucked away in my little brown suitcase in the Bug's front trunk. I knew all the guys in Tim's band, though none as well as him. Other guys and a couple of girls joined the roaming party. We ate, laughed, and imposed on their friends' parents. Although we were loud and full of ourselves, the adults preferred to know where their teenagers were after dark. Got fed by a parade of really nice people.
I drove Carol's VW all over hell and back, usually full of guys. When the weekend came to an end, Tim and I looked at the Bug and decided discretion was better than valor. Dad had not called, but how could he? He had no idea where I was. He may have called Aunt Ruthie, but I had not been back to her house since stopping by on Friday to get my bag.
Monday morning, Tim followed me in his Corvair to the store on Market Street. I went the back route along Cherry Street and came up to Market and then around back to the lot behind the store. I parked, got my bag out of the front trunk, and went over to Tim, his car idling as he sat in it.
"Probably should have washed it," I said to him.
He looked at me like I was crazy. "Hate to break it to you, Bub, but a wash job is not going to help this car one bit."
"Okay. Guess it's too late anyway. Be right back." I tossed the bag into his back seat and slipped into the back door of the furniture store basement. Saw one guy. Put the keys on the workbench inside the door and hollered, "Here are the keys to the VW. It's in the lot."
"Do you want to see Jay?"
"Nah. No need to bother him." Uncle Jay was the last person I wanted to see. I trotted out of there and hopped into Tim's car. Once the door closed, I said, "Let's beat feet."
Back at Tim's house, his mom made us sandwiches, then left to go shopping. He had two days off from school, too. We played basketball in his parents' bedroom, being careful not to mess it up. I finally said, "Guess I ought to call Dad. Hope he's up."
"Glad it's you, not me."
"Yeah, well, might as well get it over. Okay if I use your phone?"
"Have any other options?"
"No, Smartass."
"Then have at it," Tim said, grinning.
"You're a scholar and a gentleman."
"I'm also a better basketball player than you. And don't forget Smartass."
My guts twisted in a knot, I walked the few feet to their front hall. Picked up the telephone receiver and dialed Dad's number. He answered. I said, "Hi, Dad. How was your trip?" My heart was thumping.
"Not sure it was worth it. Too short. Where are you?"
"At Tim's."
"Your Aunt Ruth called an hour ago. Woke me up."
My heart picked up speed. "Oh, what did she have to say?" I held my breath.
"She was worried about you. Hadn't seen you since Friday. Said you borrowed Carol's birthday car. Said Jay was none too pleased with its condition this morning when you returned it. Not what I wanted to hear."
"Yeah, right, Dad." What the hell could I say?
"How about you tell me what happened?" Dad's voice was calmer than I expected.
"Well..." Big breath. My mind reached frantically for a way to make things sound better. "The first day with the car..."
"That would be Friday?"
"Right, Friday." Another big breath. "Tim wasn't home, so I did a few laps around the river road."
"In this car?"
"Yeah, in Carol's VW Bug."
"How did you get it in the first place? Why did you get it?" I could see the muscles standing out in Dad's neck.
"Well, I stayed at Aunt Ruthie's the first night when you probably already were in Chicago." I hoped the memory would be soothing. "I mentioned to her about getting out to Tim's. She said I could borrow Carol's car. Carol was right there. She said it was okay, too, since she can't get her license until November."
"Really nice of them. Did you say 'Thank You'?"
"Yeah. I'm sure I did."
"Did you return the car in good shape?"
Oh, boy, I thought. "Best I could, Dad." I heard Tim stifling a laugh in the living room.
"So you had it for four days?"
"Uh, maybe three and a half."
"Where did you drive it?"
"Around here. And Princeton. And maybe some country roads."
"Why on earth were you driving all over the place?"
"Well, we had some things to do."
"What things? And who are we? This does not sound like you, Bob. "
Not the me you know, that's for sure. "I hung out mostly with guys I didn't go to school with. That's after the Apollos played."
"The Apollos?"
"Tim's band."
"Interesting. So where did you meet these guys you didn't know?"
"In Princeton. At Cheesy's house."
I heard Dad grinding his teeth over the phone. "Who's Cheesy?"
"Tim's girlfriend's father.
"And the car? What happened to it?"
"Well, we were heading outside of Princeton to meet up with a couple other dudes, and one of the guys in back said he needed to pee. I thought it might be urgent and didn't want him to pee in Carol's car, so I turned into the first little side road I saw."
"And..."
"The car rolled."
"Jesus Christ! Was anybody hurt?"
"No. No one was hurt at all. We got out and pushed the car back onto its wheels. Then we all peed in the ditch and got back in and drove away. The car was drivable. Just a flat spot on its roof."
"I'm glad no one was hurt. So you took the car back the next day, which would be today."
"Yes, the car went back to the store today, but..."
"But what?"
"Well, there were a few days in between the roll job and today. Had another couple events." After a few seconds of silence in which I was editing what to tell Dad, I said, "Clipped some trees which got the front bumper, left front fender, and hood."
"How on earth did you get into trees?"
I heard Tim laughing harder in the living room, and Dad taking a drag on his cigarette. I wished I had one. "We were looking for where Janice was cheerleading. Uh, we needed to go up a hillside to get where we thought we needed to go."
"Who is Janice?"
"Tim's girlfriend." Dad didn't say anything, so I plunged ahead. "Somehow, the rear bonnet got banged in. Then there's scrapes on the driver's door and a neat crease along the side, back to the rear fender. Not sure how that happened. Maybe the car got side swiped, parked overnight in Princeton." Reaching for anything positive to say, I blurted out, "But the right front fender is cherry, Dad, not a scratch." Tim howled in the background.
"This is really bad, Son."
Covering the receiver, I stretched the phone cord to the living room doorway. Tim was rolling on the carpet, laughing so hard he was crying. "Shhh. Dad's going to hear you."
He mouthed, "I'll try," then quoted me in a whisper, "The right front fender is cherry, Dad, not a scratch," and pulled himself behind the couch, laughing and sucking air so hard, I would've worried about him if I weren't so overwhelmed by my drama.
I went the other way toward the kitchen with the phone and waited what seemed like an hour. Eventually, Dad said, "Get yourself on the bus. Call me when you are in the station downtown. Were you guys drinking?"
Surprised, I said, Oh, no way, Dad. "No booze, no drugs. No way."
"Make sure you keep it that way," he said and hung up.
"You off the phone?" Tim yelled.
"Yeah. I need to borrow some money," I said, joining Tim in the living room.
"You didn't tell him about backing into my Corvair?"
"Forgot. Think I ought to call Dad back?"
Tim snorted. "No, I think he's mad enough already."
"I didn't think your car got hurt."
"My bumper and fender have some scratches on them. But not much compared to the chunk of rear fender that got taken out of your car."
"Carol's car."
"Right. Carol's car."
I asked Tim, "What would your Dad do if it were you instead of me in this hot seat?"
"He'd be none too happy. What do you think your Dad's going to do?"
I thought for a minute. "Good question. I don't have any money, or know how to fix cars. I imagine he will yell at me, then be frosty for a while."
"Will he ground you?"
"The only thing I do is go to school. No wait, I forgot about our slot car racing."
"You've mentioned something about that."
"Yeah, Dad and I've been doing it since summer before last. The model shop moved into a larger place and built a rad six lane slot car track."
"You any good at it?"
"Got a bunch of trophies."
"You mean more trophies?"
"Yeah. Dad builds the bodies, and I put together the frames. Racing both 24th and 32nd scales."
"That's really cool."
"Yeah, it is. Except when Dad gets mad."
"That happen often?"
"Sometimes. You didn't tell me what your dad would do if you were me?"
"Can't be sure. I'd guess he'd give me a hard talking to about responsibility and other people's property. I don't think he would make me quit the band or sell the Vette. But I'm pretty sure he would have me fix the car as much as I could, then pay someone to do the rest. You said you wanted to borrow some money?"
"Yeah, if I could. And a ride to the bus station."
"No problem."
An hour later, on the way to the Walnut Street Tavern bus stop, Tim said, "Don't think I've heard much about you dating anyone."
"Not much to tell."
"Really? Haven't asked anyone out?"
"Well, there was this one girl, Valerie."
“Cute?”
“Pretty much.”
"Cool. Details, please."
"I asked her to go to the community center. One weekend. She said, 'Yes'. Dad thought I should wear my red Aces sports coat, white shirt, and red tie."
"Don't know about that one."
"Could have gotten me killed."
"No shit. What happened?"
"Valerie stood me up. Wasn't at home. I asked Dad to take me to the Community Center. When we got there, he asked me if I wanted him to wait for a few minutes. I said, 'Sure.'"
"Why wait?"
"Had never been there. Didn't know what to expect."
"Okay. So what happened?"
"I walked in. Big place. Lot of kids, mostly guys. They all looked rough. Zero sports coats. Fewer than zero ties."
"How could it be fewer than zero?"
"It looked like nobody ever owned a tie, much less worn one. A group of guys headed my way, yelling crap about I should go back to where I came from."
"That sucks."
"Agreed. I got the hell out of there. They followed me outside. Luckily, Dad was still there. I hopped in his Mustang and said, "Let's get out of here fast, please." He looked around and saw the pack of guys in leather jackets and duck's butt hair."
"Sounds hairy. No pun intended."
"Yeah. Never wore my red jacket again. Dad had no idea."
NOTE: Tim and I have talked about my "VW" phone call to Dad over the years. Recently, when it came up again, we both laughed. Then, his voice lowered an octave, and he said, "I would have killed you."
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