© Copyright 2013
Chapter 2 — The Next Step
July 1973
Jim liked to get a fix in his minds eye how events would go. It helped him make sure that they always went just right.
Jim watched Hildy drive out of the parking lot and turn onto the main road. He started his own car and put it in gear. Soon he was headed home, to his parents' house, which was in the opposite direction, where he stayed during his summers and school vacations.
It was nearly midnight, so his parents wouldn't be up waiting for him, which Jim considered to be a good thing. For, no matter whether he ended up judging the night's events good or bad, a failure or a near-success, he knew either of his parents would consider them bad. He had a lot to think about.
"Why didn't I just go for it when I had the chance?"
He couldn't answer. Perhaps it was his fear of making Hildy pregnant and all the trouble that would bring him--and her. But he reminded himself that he didn't feel quite right before the subject even came up at the very end. It just didn't feel like it was supposed to feel. He thought that she was experienced. He was wrong about that, for she told him that she had never done anything like that, either.
"She has a problem, too."
But why was a problem for girls not considered a problem for them like it was for young men like him? Young women often sought to preserve their problem, while guys like Jim were trying to get rid of it from the moment they could get their hands on a Playboy magazine.
"Not like a James Bond movie."
He wondered why Bond Girls never worried about getting pregnant, and why James Bond never had to do it squeezed into the front seat of a beat up Plymouth wagon.
"I have to plan ahead better."
At least, he thought, he should have a few condoms ready. He thought again and wondered how he would screw up the courage to take the pharmacist aside and ask him to look under the counter for his supply of Trojans. He would have to work on that later, and whether to get the red or blue pack—because the pharmacist would be sure to ask.
As he turned into his parents' neighborhood he asked himself about Hildy.
"I wonder what she thinks about what happened tonight," he asked out loud.
He had no idea what the answer might be. Perhaps she had unanswered questions, too. As he thought and remembered he recalled that Hildy would have gone along with whatever Jim wanted to do even though it was clear that she was hardly in the throes of passion, like a Bond Girl would have been.
"And then, she told me that she had never done it, either."
Didn't girls want their first time to be just right, a sweet memory to pack away in their hope chests? Why would Hildy be willing to give all that up, just for a quickie in a station wagon to help Jim out of his problem?
"Why did she go along with it when she didn't really want to?" was all he could answer, and then realized that his answer was a question.
He was in his parents' driveway. He shut off the motor and sat behind the wheel for a minute thinking.
"I've got to understand this better. I've got to understand Hildy better."
He'd made a date with Hildy for Saturday. Maybe he would find out more then—if Hildy didn't call it off.
****************
The next morning was Thursday and Jim drew an easy job for the day. Frank Paternico's helper had the day off and Jim was assigned to take his place.
Frank drove a dump truck for the Gas Line Department. He delivered loads of gravel, blacktop and soil, as well as other supplies to job sites for the crews. All Jim had to do was ride along in the truck and help load and unload the materials. Compared to eight hours of digging, it was easy work. It was his lucky day.
Frank was also the Softball Team Manager. He played First Base. Frank was a family man, a traditional Italian, about forty years old, clean-shaven with a Julius Caesar kind of face and just showing signs of a belly. He was at his truck with a fistful of work orders when Jim walked out in the yard after receiving his assignment.
"I drew you," Jim announced.
He liked Frank and thought they would talk baseball all day. Frank was a big sports fan.
"I know," Frank countered. "I asked especially for you."
That surprised Jim, but he thought little of it. He started looking forward to a day of baseball talk, and probably other sports, too. Jim was a pole-vaulter on his college track team. He climbed into the passenger's seat. Frank got in behind the wheel.
"Pretty good game last night, wasn't it, Frank?" Jim said as Frank pulled the dump truck onto the highway.
"Yeah, pretty good. We've got to go and pick up a load of gravel first thing," he said.
It wasn't like Frank to be preoccupied by the job. Jim decided to try again.
"Why didn't you go over to Clancy's with us? You should have gone for a little while. It was a great win—you're our leader."
"I never go out to bars," Frank grumbled. "It's better that I go home. The wife's expecting me right after the game."
Jim was only trying to get the conversation ball rolling, and when it didn't roll he knew it was better to be quiet and wait for Frank to speak. They drove along for about five miles on the way to the gravel yard.
They passed one of their usual morning coffee places without stopping, and Jim knew that Frank had something on his mind. He wondered if the boss upstairs had yelled at Frank for wasting too much time on the job.
When they got to the gravel pit Frank spoke for the first time since leaving the company lot. He pulled the truck onto the scale, reached into his pouch for the purchase order. He climbed out of the truck and headed for the shack where the yardmaster had his office.
"Hop up into the box and make sure there isn't nothin' loose back there before they dump the gravel in," he called out to Jim over his shoulder.
Jim got out and climbed up the side of the truck to take a look in the box. There was a shovel that he thought should be secured better, and he fixed that. He climbed down and got back into the cab and Frank was not far behind. Frank still said nothing to him as he put the truck in gear and made for a giant mound of gravel where a loader was waiting for them,
They were back on the highway, retracing their steps on the way to the job. Frank broke the ice.
"Gonna be a hot one today," Frank barked over the growl of the diesel, "over ninety."
"That's what I heard, Frank. It's over eighty already and it's not even nine o'clock."
"Those guys on the work crews are gonna' really sweat it out today," Frank went on. "Pretty nice of me to pull this easy duty for ya'."
Jim did like Frank, but no one is perfect. One of Frank's imperfections was making sure that you knew he was doing you a big favor. He did it when he let Jim play Right Field instead of Catcher, or when he promoted him to batting third instead of seventh in the order. Perhaps, Jim thought, Frank fancied himself as a sort of 'Don Vito Corleone' of the Gas Line Operations Department. Jim knew he was asking for trouble, but decided to indulge himself in a rejoinder, just the same.
"Did you tell Louie to take the day off so I could ride with you?"
"Wise guy," Frank growled.
Jim knew that Frank was displeased. He decided to make Frank a deal he couldn't refuse.
"I'll buy if you stop at the coffee place."
"I was gonna' stop anyway," Frank answered as they approached the diner they'd passed on their way to the gravel pit. "But I'm gonna let you buy, anyway."
Frank pulled the truck off to the side with the other trucks. When they walked into the diner it was about half-full. Jim spotted two empty stools at the counter and started to go for them.
"Let's get that table over there, instead," Frank said, so Jim made a detour and they waited for the waitress.
