Not to trivialize Cal's situation, but It indeed had been the best of times, and it had been the worst of times. All right he'd admitted to a woman the one thing no man ever dared admit. Yes he was a virgin; a twenty-six year old virgin. More than a quarter of a century old, and never once had a woman. How lame can one man get? That was the worst of it.
But there was an up side too. If there was one woman on the planet to whom he had to make that admission to it was Maureen. For some reason telling her was like coming clean, like making it OK. In a kind of up side down way it was a really good thing to be a virgin all of a sudden. Now when he lost his cherry, it would be with Maureen; a girl he really deeply truly loved. When it happened she would be on hand. She'd be the one. He'd be giving himself to the one woman worth giving it to, for whatever it was worth, if it was worth anything, which he doubted. Hell, he doubted if any of it made any sense at all.
For a man to admit he was a virgin was, in a way, to admit to a shame, but for him to admit it to Maureen didn't feel that way. It felt good; it actually felt good.
Cal worked all through the day thinking of nothing but Maureen. She was his girl; his sweetheart. Hey they were an item. He'd found that special someone. And she'd said she'd found her special someone in him. He believed her too. She'd said it, and she wouldn't lie; she wasn't the type. She was the genuine article.
As the day dragged on, and he finished the project he had been developing he started to fidget about the coming evening. Maureen wanted him to take her back to the tavern. That wasn't going to be easy. What if Sandy was there? What if Sandy had on that necklace he'd bought her? What if that country club crowd was there?
He kept going over the same things; what if this, what if that, till he was crazy. Later in the day it occurred to him, what if there was nuclear war tonight? Shit, what difference did it make? Don't be a dumb fuck Cal. Control what you can control, and fuck what you can't.
Here's what he knew he could control. He could make sure he was dressed well enough to please Maureen. If he looked the way she wanted him to look, the evening would be a success no matter what else happened. Then there was the one thing that he could to show up any other guy, or girl, at the bar. He'd stop at a jewelry store; not the one where he got Sandy's necklace. That was a nice place, but it wasn't the best. He'd slip over to the most top of the line jewelry shop in the area. He wouldn't buy Maureen a necklace, he'd get her something that, when he gave it to her, would knock everybody's socks off. He knew what to get too. If wouldn't be a ring, he didn't want to get ahead of himself, but it would be big, real big.
Cal got home, showered, shaved, hit the right spots with the cologne she liked, and checked out the clothes. He combed his hair the way she said she wanted it.
For some reason Maureen didn't like those golf or polo shirts. He didn't like them either. He just thought they were stupid. Maureen had her own reasons. He knew it didn't matter. If Maureen didn't like them, he wasn't wearing them and that was that.
He picked out a light blue boat neck shirt, a pair of dark blue straight legged slacks, a pair of black socks and the black casual shoes she said she liked. He was going all out to look good tonight. She wanted him to look good, and he was determined to make her proud of him.
He drove over and picked her up at 6:00 sharp. She said she wanted to go to the tavern, so go to the tavern they would. He didn't want to, but if that's what she wanted, that's what they would do.
He went up and tapped on the screen door. Her mom answered, "Come on in Cal. Maureen will be right out. For some reason Maureen's bedroom was on the first floor. It didn't make a lot of sense. It was a big house; most of the time the girl's rooms, so he was told, were upstairs. Her mother led him in to the living room and they sat down on an old raggedy looking sofa.
It was the first time Cal had ventured this far into Maureen's parent's house. He'd seen the outside already. It had that dilapidated look of either long time disuse or neglect. Looking around the living room he saw the clear signs of genteel poverty. Her parents were probably skirting dangerously on the edge of outright destitution, and from the look of things it must have been kind of a permanent condition.
Cal sat back on the sofa. It was old but certainly comfortable. It had to be at least twenty maybe twenty-five years old. It had the look of a home made re-upholstery job, and maybe two or three other minor repairs. He was surprised at how comfortable it still was. He felt right at home on it.
He asked, "Have you lived here very long?"
Andrea, Maureen's mom answered, "This was our first house. We bought it when we first got married. We know it's not much, but we like it."
Cal wanted to be polite, "I like it here. There's a warm homey quality people don't often find."
Andrea smiled, "You mean old and worn quality."
Cal sat up straighter and tried to correct himself, "No I didn't mean that exactly. I mean I think the house has character. This is where Maureen grew up, had her first birthdays, sleep overs, and stuff like that."
Andrea gave him a wan smile, "There weren't many sleep overs, but there were some happy moments."
He didn't push it any further. Anyway, by then he heard Maureen coming out of her bedroom. She stepped out and asked, "Everybody getting along?"
Cal got up, "We were talking about your childhood; the sleep overs you had."
Maureen didn't say anything. She went over and kissed her mom, "You know Cal."
Andrea answered, "We've met before, but I know he doesn't remember."
Cal didn't remember ever meeting Maureen's mom before, but that didn't mean anything. There were a lot of people who'd come in and out of his grandfather's garage when he was growing up. He smiled at Andrea, "I'll get her home at a respectable hour."
Andrea laughed at the joke, "See that you do."
Cal walked Maureen to the screen door and opened it for her. He hooked his hand on her elbow and helped her down the old wooden steps to his truck. As they walked down he commented, "Maybe we could repair the steps after the gazebo."
Maureen looked up at him, "We could do that."
He helped her in the truck, started the engine, slipped it into drive and they pulled away. He'd been checking her out the whole time. She was wearing a black silk blouse. The top buttons were undone; giving him a good shot at her breasts. She'd tied a black ribbon around her neck. Her hair was done up in two tight braids which were tied off and held together in the back by another, wide, black ribbon drawn up in a big bow. He thought it looked not just sexy, but kind of naturally pretty.
Maureen had on a miniskirt, A-line type he thought, it came down just above her knees. He saw she was wearing black onyx earrings, a brighter shade of red lipstick than usual and much darker mascara. Black nylons and black high heeled shoes finished her off. She looked like she was dressed for the hunt; hunting what he couldn't exactly figure. He knew she looked really good.
He noticed she was wearing glasses, black horn rimmed glasses, "You've got glasses on."
She smiled, "You noticed."
He smiled back, "They look nice. You look smarter in glasses." He backed off what he said a little, "I mean you look smart all the time. It's just the glasses give you a more reflective demeanor."
With a perky grin she replied, "You mean I have a mousy look with glasses on. If you don't like them I'll take them off and put my contacts back in."
He physically as well as verbally retreated, "No I didn't mean that at all. What I meant was..."
She didn't give him a chance to finish. Lightly punching him in the ribs, "I'm teasing silly."
He put his right arm up and around her shoulder. She had a way about her; she always found a way to say something that made him feel manlier. He pulled her over and kissed her forehead, "You're really special. I don't know what you see in me."
She leaned her head against his chest, in the crook just under his upper arm, "You're my hero." She leaned her head around, took her right hand, pulled his face down and around to hers and kissed him, "You're my hero, and I love you."
He blushed.
They got to the tavern a few minutes later. He got out, walked around, opened her door and handed her down from the truck. They walked, arm in arm, into the tavern.
As they walked in Maureen made a mental note how every time he always helped her in and out of the truck. Not many men did that.
As they entered the tavern they saw it was pretty full. Warren and his girl Annie were at the bar. Not far down, still at the bar was Sandy with her little crew of sycophants.
Warren saw them come in and called out, "Hey Cal. Come on over."
Cal looked at Maureen, and gave her a questioning nod. She answered, "Good place to start."
Cal didn't immediately catch what she meant, but as they went toward Warren he caught on as Sandy and several of her friends started to drift over too.
It wasn't long before a moderate little crowd, perhaps eight or nine additional people had gathered around Cal and Maureen. It was an interesting little assemblage; working types like he and Warren, plus some of the more yuppy country club group.
Sandy was dressed in what he'd begun to recognize as her usual simpering, post college, semi-childish uniform. She had on a mini-dress jumper, hair in pig tails with pink ribbons, white knee high stockings, and pink tennis shoes. It was kind of a pseudo Paris Hilton look. A few days ago he would have liked it, but now he saw things differently.
Conversation drifted in and out between sports, automobiles, politics, and the weather, but eventually, as it often did, it started to focus on Cal. This was when the people in attendance started leaning toward the soft jabs and gentle jokes about his attire, his behavior, and his overall clumsiness. It took them a little longer on this night; Maureen had dressed him. Still the barbs did eventually start to fly.
One guy hit it off, "Hey Cal, you going to give Maureen another lesson in pool?"
There was some soft laughter, followed by some more silly banter about who was the best player.
Another guy hit him on his hair. One gave him a light verbal tap about his shoes; how new and probably uncomfortable they looked.
Still another asked if his mother was dressing him. That didn't fly so well. The commenter probably didn't know Cal's mother had been dead since he was in the second grade.
The callous mother commenter didn't want to let that go. He remarked, "What she's making change at the counter at the Wal-Mart?
Cal didn't say anything. Warren, his best friend, fielded it, "Cal's mother was a nurse. She got killed in a car crash when he was seven."
The smart talker dropped the subject
