I was 5 ½ years old the day I met Jill Bell, she was 5. She tripped a boy who had been threatening to beat me up and then stood on his chest until he cried "uncle". The now-frightened bully ran off to tell a teacher while Jill helped me up. She gave me a big hug and said "I like you. You can be my boyfriend."
Of course, I had no intention of being anyone's boyfriend at that age. Girls were still weird creatures who ate worms, as far as I was concerned. But I was always a bit ahead of my classmates in maturity. By the time I was 8½, if you went looking for me, you likely found Jill. If it was Jill you were looking for, she was always nearby. At that age, we were practically joined at the hip.
It was easy to see even at 8 years of age that Jill was going to be a beauty. She was a few inches taller than I, with hair the color of summer wheat and a dusting of freckles across her adorable nose. Her eyes were a shade of blue that is almost indescribable and she had a perpetual smile, although she always insisted that was my fault. "You make me laugh Petey," She would say, poking me in the chest. "You're silly."
By Grades 7 and 8, we both knew we were in love. Some would have called it Puppy Love, but not Jill and not me either. We walked to school together every day, holding hands. It didn't matter to me that I had to go 10 minutes out of my way to walk Jill, rain, snowstorm or shine; I was walking my girl to school. Her friends thought she was nuts. My friends couldn't see it either. "He's shorter than you," All of Jill's friends would tell her. "She
stuffs
," My friends told me -- they were
wrong
about that. All of Jill was beautiful and sexy, even then.
Then someone pulled the rug out from underneath us. Sometimes good things can have bad results and that was the case for Jill and me. Her dad inherited a lot of money from a favorite uncle and suddenly, the old neighborhood wasn't good enough for him or his family. Jill's family moved to Los Angeles and nicer weather. She contemplated running away, she was that unhappy. I will never forget the look on her face when her car pulled out of their driveway for the last time. I'm sure it was mirrored on my own.
I got a letter from Jill a few days after they arrived in California. There were actually tear stains on the paper and I must have read that document a dozen times in a week. I got out all the photos I had of myself with Jill and I cried so hard that my body shook. I was barely 14 and had lost the love of my life. My parents did everything they could, I barely left my room. I was inconsolable, even though a lot of girls were thrilled that there was now a clear playing field. I was now heading towards being a healthy six-footer, with dark hair and broad shoulders. Jill had pushed me into trying out for track and I was in great shape. I didn't want to date -- I wanted
Jill
and I mourned the loss of her for months. Every new letter brought fresh pain, re-opened the wounds. Puppy Love? Not hardly -- I knew even then I would never love anyone as truly, madly, deeply as I loved Jill Bell.
I was hoping somehow I could reconnect with her, maybe when I had saved enough money, I could go visit her in California. I had to hold out hope and then my parents kicked that out from under me. We were moving as well -- to Europe for at least a year and then to New York. My father's securities firm wanted him overseas for a year and then, they were arranging a position for him in New York at a much larger salary. Oh man, was I
pissed
when I heard this news.
"I'm not going," I told them, digging in my heels. "I'll be 16 in a few months and I have no intention of leaving all my friends. It's bad enough I don't have the woman I love anymore ..." I knew I was being melodramatic, but I meant every word "... but being in a country where I don't know anyone and don't speak the language?
Fuck
that!"
My parents were astonished, as swearing was somewhat of a rarity for me. My father and I were often at loggerheads, so it was up to my mother to intervene and be rational.
"You're right, we can't force you, but how will you live? How will you support yourself?" She smiled, hoping to ameliorate a bad situation.
I was a smart kid. "My friend Steve, his parents said I can stay with them, if I want," I countered. Uncle Frank and Aunt Patty said the same thing." I saw my dad bristle at that -- he and his brother didn't get along that well and I'm sure he thought it was his brother trying to stir up trouble, although it was actually Aunt Patty who had extended the offer. "You're my favorite nephew," She smiled, ruffling my hair.
"I'm your only nephew, you've got 4 nieces," I laughed.
"What about money?" My father asked, unable to refrain from commenting. "I'm not paying for you to live on your own and I doubt Uncle Frank is going to support you."
My dad was never a match for me, sorry to say. "Uncle Frank says that he'll let me work in his Dry Cleaners after school, he'll take so much for room & board and give me the rest," I countered yet again. "Face it dad, I've got everything all set up."
"No," My father said, putting his foot down. "You may be furious with me now, but a chance to live in Europe for a year is nothing to sneeze at. You'll see the world and I'm not going to allow you to deny yourself that. You can keep in touch with your friends and your cousins, but you're going and that's that."
I protested and fought and screamed and swore, but my father won out. He was right. After I'd lived in Paris for a while and then Berlin and finally, Venice for the last 4 months of our stay, I realized I would have missed out. I was homesick from time to time, but now that I had seen the world, I knew that I wanted to see more of it. I knew I wanted to work in an industry that would allot me that opportunity -- I intended to become a pilot.
I told my parents about my decision when we got to New York. To say that mom was not thrilled would be an understatement. She was terrified that I'd crash or be hijacked or suffer some terrible fate.
"For God's sakes Marjorie, you're being ridiculous," My father told her in his usual gruff, no-nonsense manner. "I'm glad to see Peter has finally chosen a direction for his life and he's right, he'll be able to see the world and experience things for years to come. Smart choice boy -- but you should still attend university."
I know at times I've made my father sound like a bit of a butthead, but he isn't. He values hard work and education, probably because his own father -- my grandfather -- tried to take the easy way out of everything and as a consequence, dad grew up with almost nothing. He didn't want that for any of his kids and at times, I know he worked way too much to make sure we'd be okay.
On my father's advice, I enrolled at Hudson University and graduated at the top of my class. By the time I got my pilot's license, I was set.
Everything they tell you about flight attendants is true (aside from the Mile-High Club, which can get you arrested and fined). I became quite the playboy and if I wasn't fucking some hot stew (some of us still called them that) I was screwing some of the hottest, youngest pieces of ass I could find -- and the occasional MILF wanting to escape her husband as well.
None of that mattered because it was all total bullshit. I met some really beautiful women, including some runway and magazine models and had a great time between the sheets. By the time I made Captain at 26, I had quite the reputation. It didn't matter to me, not down deep. None of those women were Jill. She still had a hold on me and I often wondered where she was, what had become of her. I knew somehow that she was still beautiful and I knew I would miss her always.
Then, with a feeling almost as shocking as if I'd run my plane into a mountain, I got a letter in the mail. It was from a private detective, asking me if I was the Peter Brant who had lived in Springdale. If so, there was a Jill Bell who had been looking for me for the past 3 years.
I literally sat down on my bed and cried. My roommate thought someone in my family had died. When I managed to tell him what was going on, he thought I had gone nuts. "All this over a girl?" Terry griped. "Shit man, you get more tail than anyone I know. What's the big deal?"
I knew that Terry would never understand because he was a bigger hound than I was. I found the detective's number on the bottom of the letter and called it. He answered on the 2nd ring and told me he would be in touch soon, he would speak to Jill and let her know that I had been found.
I didn't know I had been lost -- but I had. Totally lost without my Jill.
My heart was pounding and I didn't know how I was going to sleep that night. As it turned out -- I wasn't. Not an hour after I called detective Mackenzie, my phone rang. I knew before I picked it up who was calling. I just knew -- and I was right.
It was Jill on the other end of the line, her voice soft and now sexy with the passage of time. Both of us tried to talk and both of us fell short, managing to sputter out meaningless platitudes between tears.
"I have to see you, I don't want to wait any longer than I have to," I said, practically begging. If some of my fellow pilots could have seen me then, acting like a complete idiot, my hard-won reputation would have sunk like a stone. "When can I see you?"
"Tomorrow," Jill sniffed through her own tears. "I don't want to wait either, it's been too long already. I'll be in New York tomorrow."
We made our plans and when we said our good-nights, I added at the end, without even thinking, "See you tomorrow, darling." I wondered as I hung up - had she heard me?
She'd heard me and she later told me that after I hung up, she had herself a good cry. We had arranged to meet at a nice hotel where the airline sometimes puts up pilots and other members of the crew. When Jill walked into the lobby, my heart nearly stopped.
Time had been good to Jill. She was now eerily beautiful, an ethereal glow lit her from behind as she walked through the ornate doors. Dressed in a pretty blue dress and high heels, her hair blonde, wavy and down to her buttocks, she made my heart sing. Every inch of her was beautiful and she had the most beautiful face, body and smile I had ever seen. I wondered if I dared kiss her when she took that option away from me. She saw me, ran over to me and kissed me so hard that I nearly lost my breath. There were tears in both of our eyes, although she had the giggles when she finally pulled away.
"You're finally taller than I am," Jill laughed. I wanted to hear that laugh over and over again.
"Yeah, and maybe know I can kick your butt," I smiled as I led her to the lounge where we were to have drinks.
"Don't count on it, although from the way you're looking at it, I think kicking is the last thing on your mind," Jill teased. She was right -- my perfect girl now had the perfect bubble-butt and the front of her was amazing too. I was mesmerized, totally smitten, right from the get-go. We talked and drank and had some food, but never let go of the other's hand. I knew that I never wanted to let go of her hand again. I had found my perfect woman -- or
she
had found me -- when I was 5 ½.
