Donna in the Senior Year

[Other women mentioned in this story are Charlotte (

Lioness Limousine

), Michelle (

First Day of Class

) and Judy (

The Ravishment of Young Judy

): those stories take place in 1975-76.]

*****

Sometimes a girlfriend just walks into one's life when one is not making an active effort to find one. In fact, during my college years, all the girls I met seemed to appear that way. I did want girlfriends but I often lacked the motivation and perhaps confidence to seek out one. Then in a period of less than a year four of them emerged from the mass of students at the City College of New York. The first one picked me up on the central avenue running through the campus. Then it just seemed just as easy - and quick - to lose all of them.

I did have a great time in my sophomore and junior years, especially for a period when I had three of them going at once. It was also painful to be dropped by them, especially when two of them - they were friends of each other - left me in a single month.

Thus I went into my senior year alone again for the first time since I had been a freshman. I was bothered by that but a lassitude had come over me as I faced the last year of college. That joke I often heard about various schools - "I went there to get out" - seemed more appropriate than ever.

On Labor Day weekend 1976 one of my college newspaper colleagues, another senior named Warren, held a party at his apartment in Flushing, Queens. When I had first attended one of his summer events two years earlier I had been totally inexperienced in matters of love and sex and almost as naive about alcohol. That had been in his first apartment; it was on the second floor of an old wooden house about a mile from my home in the Bronx. It was an unpleasant night for me as first I got sick and puked out a window - too much Southern Comfort among other things - and then I walked home in a semi-blackout rather than waiting forever for an owl service bus.

His 1976 party was in one of those bland post-war apartment houses that line the streets of middle-class Queens. At least the place was cleaner than the previous one. After about an hour the party itself was a bit of a letdown.

Maybe I'm becoming jaded at the advanced age of twenty-one.

My friends from college were there as well some of Warren's friend's from his Queens youth. I suspected that a few friends of friends had crashed the event as usual but no one seemed to care.

People drank and talked; I knew that somebody would introduce some joints soon. Pot and booze didn't really go together in my opinion but it seemed to be a popular combination at that time. I was just young and foolish enough to hope that some harder drugs would eventually come my way but fortunately none ever did. That was a period when a lot of people still had misconceptions about how dangerous cocaine and other substances could be.

My host couldn't afford the electric bill for air conditioning so at nine P.M. the apartment was still warm and humid. I limited myself to white wine for the time being and had just finished my second glass of it.

Warren had put on an Emerson, Lake and Palmer album that he always played at his parties and I thought this was a good time to go to the kitchen for a refill. It was pleasant to be alone in there; Warren had set up a couple of table lamps so the overhead fluorescents weren't turned on. The window was wide open so there was a breeze coming in that made it a bit cooler then the stuffy living room. I decided to sit in there next to the bottle-laden table and be by myself for a few minutes.

In my pensive mood I considered the nature of college parties: plastic cups for glasses, British progressive rock bands on the stereo. That kind of thing seemed like a novelty when I was a freshman, but now I was looking for something more adult I supposed although I couldn't quite imagine what that would be like. Even

The Salient

newspaper, which had been so central to my life for three years, lacked interest for me now.

Just two more semesters, maybe eight courses, and I'll be out. Jesus, then I'll have to get a real job I guess.

Soon the Gypsy Queen

In a glaze of Vaseline

Will perform on guillotine

What a scene, what a scene

What was the big deal with this song anyway?

The one thing I wasn't ruminating about was women. Yet at that moment one walked into the kitchen, a girl I had never seen before. She was a late arrival, she seemed to be alone and she had obviously come in here to get a drink. I noticed she was wearing a beret which seemed a bit unusual for the Sunday before Labor Day.

She glanced at the bottles and then she looked at me sitting in the corner by the window. I had to remind myself,

don't break eye contact with her.

She put a hand on the table and leaned on it. I could have just said hello but I sensed that it would be better to let her have the first word.

She looked askance at me as she said, "You're quite the Beau Brummell; I see you're dressed to kill tonight."

That was a good one. It was a put-down but I was impressed anyway. I never had a knack for clothes and in any case I didn't have the money to make up for that lack. My outfit consisted of a t-shirt, blue jeans and high-top Converse sneakers. In addition, like most of the guys my age, I was in dire need of a haircut. There was some kind of lingering post-hippie idea that messy hair was cool.

Two years earlier I probably would have flubbed my response with something like

it's hot today

or

this is all I've got

or even

so that's what you think.

My previous ladies had all been smart - and in fact they were smart-asses at times - so I was able to improvise something.

"Well, I could say the same thing about you."

She laughed at that. Then she made a little gesture indicating herself;

go ahead, have another look.

I gave myself a couple of moments for this assessment. She was obviously one of the multitude of New York ethnic girls.

The Girls of Ellis Island

;

Playboy

should do a pictorial with the female descendants of immigrants. Even my WASPy ex-girlfriend Charlotte had seemed ethnic after several years in the city. Like Charlotte, Donna was dark-haired and wore glasses. Her hair was trimmed shorter than was common for that time.. She was simply but neatly dressed with a pullover top, a skirt and sandals.

I looked at her body but I tried not to be too obvious about it. She wasn't slender but she wasn't curvy either - more like straight, level if those words made sense. But I indeed liked what I was seeing.

Then I said, "Can I get you a drink?"

"If you're buying, then sure."

Of course all the liquor had been donated by the party goers. She held out a cup and said, "I'll have whatever you're having."

I looked at the wine bottle, hoping for some inspiration for a quip, but I couldn't find anything. It was from some vineyard in the Napa Valley of California. "At least it has a cork," I said and then I poured for her. Then my worrying side came to the fore and I thought,

what if she just says, "Nice to meet you" and then she goes into another room?

Following her would be a hopelessly lame gesture if that happened

But she didn't leave; she pulled out a chair and placed it opposite me. She sat down and crossed her legs.

I had a little jump in my nervous system.

Okay, so she came here to Flushing from someplace else, ostensibly for this uninspiring party, and the first thing she wants to do is talk to me. What does she want: to flirt a bit or just toy with me for a lack of anything better to do?

I had to shake myself out of that.

Don't over think it, just see what happens.

She didn't gulp her wine but she didn't sip it either. I had seen people do that at social functions and I had done it myself: get some alcohol in right at the beginning.

"So are you one of the City College people?"

"Right, I'm on one of the papers with Warren."

"Actually I go to Manhattan College." That was an important fact; despite its name it was in the Bronx, perhaps two miles from my home. I decided to not mention that just yet. She continued, "I'm Donna, Donna Azzato. Despite my name, I'm actually half Italian and half Jewish." She leaned forward slightly, "So you get two princesses for the price of one."

"And, eventually, just one queen."

She laughed, "You've got that right!" I suspected she had used that line before and I was the first one to have a plausible comeback. She had certainly verified the details of the ethnic identity I had already surmised.

I introduced myself and then we had some student chitchat about courses and majors and so forth. Later on in life I would find that people talked about their jobs, then even later it was their houses, lawn maintenance, their mutual funds.

She finished her drink and said, "I could use a refill. How about something stronger?"

I was in need of one too. "A vodka and tonic, that seems about right." To my twenty-one-year old self that seemed like a sophisticated drink. She assented and I had to stand up to do my bartender act. When it was done she sampled her drink and said, "Don't mind me for asking, but you don't have a girlfriend coming here later, do you?"

I pondered the question and then it hit me that something like that must have happened to her before; a guy making some time with her at a party had his current sweetheart walk in at a later point. I responded, "No, I don't have one coming later." I knew enough to be vague about whether or not I had

any

girlfriend out there. I continued, "How about you, do you have a boyfriend arriving later?"

She gave me some mock scoffing, "No, of course not, I wouldn't do anything like that."

Yeah, baby, prove it.

But that cynical thought melted away as she smiled at me again.

Then she looked out the window and said, "The dating scene does get kind of - I don't know, I guess it's better than sitting around doing nothing."

What should I do now, propose myself as an alternative?

But Donna was still looking at the Queens night so I let my mind process things.

Maybe she was just thinking out loud.

And then I was struck by very intense sexual thoughts about her. These seemed to arrive completely unbidden. The sequence went:

I haven't been dating since June, she hasn't been since who knows when, but we haven't been doing nothing - obviously we've been masturbating.

Then I visualized her, right there in her kitchen chair, with her skirt up and one of her hands deep inside her underpants.

This dry spell has only been two months but it feels like a year. I've got to take this down a notch or I'll overplay it.

I decided to momentarily distract myself but I wound up having sexual thoughts about someone else. It wasn't a fantasy, it was a memory of a real event with my first girlfriend Andrea about two years earlier. On our second date we were parked at night in her car. She decided to pull out a hairbrush and she used it to masturbate in front of me. For some reason she wanted my virginal self to witness what a female orgasm looked like. It had been quite a show, the best kind of real-world sex education.

Donna looked back at me and seemed to snap back to the present. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten into that self-pity." I was thinking about her again. I was close enough to reach out and touch the hem of her skirt.

What kind of underpants is she wearing? What if on this hot day she isn't wearing any?

That was unlikely but I couldn't help but consider it.

Just then Warren walked into the kitchen and saved us from our awkward moments. He was a tall, gawky guy and not given to a lot of talking. He greeted Donna and then looked at me. I expected him to explain how he knew her but he just shrugged and picked out a new cup for himself.

I said, "Haven't you been playing this song at parties for the last two years?"

He smirked and said something noncommittal. When he had his refill he left without saying anything more.

I said, "I wonder if he's going to be playing more Emerson, Lake and Palmer."

"Oh yeah, that was a while ago already." I hadn't even noticed what had been on his stereo since I had poured Donna's first drink. Something else was coming out of the speakers.

'Cause I'm T.N.T. I'm dynamite

T.N.T. and I'll win the fight

T.N.T. I'm a power load

T.N.T. watch me explode

I was more relaxed now as we had our vodka; we talked about music. She was better informed about it then I was but I liked listening to her. I allowed myself to muse further about her. She must have been one of those smart but quiet girls in high school who gain confidence while in college.

But isn't that - the male version of it - my story too?

In any case I seemed to attract that type but that had been fine so far.

Just as I considered the next development the smell of burning pot entered the kitchen. I looked at Donna but I didn't really want to go into the other room; it would break our focus. She solved the problem for me.

"I've got something better than that stinkweed." She reached into her purse and pulled out a joint. "This is a lot better; they call it Jamaican Cream Puffs."

"I think I've heard about it. Do you really take those names dealers give it seriously?"

"Well, I do know that this stuff is both strong and smooth. How about, we go downstairs and try it out?"

That seemed like a fine idea; I didn't want to have to share this with whoever wandered into the kitchen next. It wasn't the pot I was really concerned about. I seemed to have a certain flow going with Donna and I had enough experience to know when a date had potential. I didn't want any distractions now.

Just then my friend Jeff came in, obviously looking for a refill. His normally disordered hair was even more tangled right now. It seemed that the heat and booze had taken some toll on him. He greeted me and said, "Maybe just some seltzer would be enough right now."

Donna said, "Drop a bit of gin in it, give it a tang."

He looked over at her and she raised her glasses over her forehead and smiled at him. I could see he obviously was impressed by her but she was hanging with me now. He seemed unable to decide what to say. She was teasing him, but I had gotten there firstest with the mostest.

Then he said, "Anyway, as you can all tell, Warren and Eric brought some herb out."

On an impulse I asked him, "Are there any 'ludes out there?" He was completely confused because I had never used them and in fact I knew little about it.

"No man, there aren't." Then he collected his seltzer - no gin in it - and said to Donna, "Glad to meet you. I'll see you in a couple of minutes I guess."

Probably not

, I thought. As soon as he left Donna said, "You obviously don't take 'ludes."

"I don't, but how would you know?"

"You don't look like the type."

Is that a good thing?

"Were you trying to impress me?"

"No, I was trying to get him rattled."

She was amused, "You did a pretty good job of it!"

Now it was time to get down to the street. On the way through the corridor and down in the elevator I had some failure of confidence. I knew nothing about this Donna person or what she was thinking.

Maybe she's just chatting me up to make the time pass. Then she'll slip away as unobtrusively as she had entered.

At least I could be assured of another half-hour or so with her in the street. It felt good to get out of that cramped kitchen. It wasn't that much cooler downstairs, but I felt I had more room both literally and figuratively to maneuver. We leaned against a tree as we shared the joint. It was strong pot as she had promised and I hoped that, at least initially, I would be able to hold a relatively coherent conversation.

She got one in first, "So, did you come to the party to pick up a petite blonde, which I obviously am not?"

I made up something as a joke, "Actually, I like redheads, but they're hard to find."

Donna knew not to take it seriously, "Okay, how about that ginger I saw upstairs? Is she from CCNY?"

"That's Doreen, she's on the paper too." She was pretty much inactive with it recently, but I didn't mention that. "The problem is that she's been going with someone else." Or, at least, she had been sporadically dating a couple of guys but I didn't go into details.

Donna said, "So what is the story with your most recent girlfriend up at City? I bet she was around until last semester." Of course she was just speculating and making this up. Yet I was impressed with the accuracy of her guess and her teasing seemed good-natured rather than probing.

I still tried to deflect the question, if poorly, "I didn't say anything about a girlfriend."

"Yeah but if there was one the odds are good that she'd be at this party. And semester breaks are often the time for relationship breaks too."

I decided to let my guard down and I answered honestly, "All right, her name was Charlotte, she was one of those perennial students. She was six years older than I am and she finally got her degree last June." I figured that somehow Donna would be impressed that I had been involved with this older woman. I had been impressed myself, and I had a brief pang as I thought about Charlotte's exit from my life.

"I get it, she graduated and thought it was time to move on with her life."

Another good guess or maybe it was, as I already seen before, that women had a talent for deducing these bits of interpersonal relations. I decided to change the topic and move the focus on to her.

I said, "So what's with the beatnik girl look?"

"Oh, the beret. I wasn't even aware of it that way. Although you seem to like it."

I tried not to overplay it, "It certainly is different."

"Your friend noticed it."

Poor Jeff, he could use someone to play matchmaker for him.

But I didn't want to knock him just to impress Donna. "I actually met him in high school. Then I met him again in a freshman class and we joined the paper together."

A couple of minutes later she said, "This stuff in really strong. I'm going to put it out and finish it some other time." I thought,

with me, I sincerely hope.

It was warm in the street but the air was fresher than in Warren's apartment. The drug was flowing through my system and I felt relaxed now with this intriguing new companion. I wondered if I could have a little make-out session with her right there leaning against that tree. I reached forward and pushed her glasses up on her forehead. That seemed like a clear signal; if I got negative feedback I could perhaps gracefully back out.

She smiled at me and I leaned forward; she could still push me back if she wanted. Her kissing was tentative to start with but she quickly warmed up. After a few minutes she moved away again.

"You really don't want to go back to the party, do you?" I said. "Because I don't." I didn't want to lose track of her in whatever was going on up there.

She said, "I don't really know anybody here."

"Well, you know me now."

Hey, that was pretty good. Better than asking her why she had come in the first place. But, where would we go now?

I didn't have my own place yet. I knew my extended adolescence had to come to an end soon. Two years ago, when I had my first girlfriends, it didn't matter so much that I didn't have an apartment yet.

She thought about something. Then she said, "Maybe I should go home now."

"Where do you live?"

"In the Bronx, near Pelham Parkway." I remembered her college; I decided it was time for my reveal.

"I live there too, by Gun Hill Road."