Before They Were Stars Michelle Pfeiffer

Anyone who has read one of my stories knows that I always insert factual details and events to add an element of reality to a tale. The story is more interesting to write and hopefully more interesting to read.

While it may be challenging at times to distinguish the factual elements from the fictional ones, this story, like all my others is absolute fiction.

Constructive comments are always welcomed. Enjoy

~~~

"I'm not telling you again. I won't say a word about anything involving Mick until I hear from her in her own voice that it's okay to speak with you."

The woman who purported to be Mick's publicist had an impatient pout on her face, but the man that she had brought with her to my house, claiming that he was a private investigator hired by her, tried a more intimidating tactic.

"The list of people who knew of the incident is extremely short," he said, "with your name right at the top of it. If you have nothing to hide, there is no reason for you not to share with us what you know."

"I can give you two very good reasons," I responded, pointing at him, "I don't know you." I then pointed at the woman, "and I don't know you. If you're on the up and up, Mick will tell me so when she calls me back."

"We don't have all day..." the man began before being cut off by the woman.

"In addition to the voicemail that Mr. Gayner left for her, I have also texted her. She knows that we were planning on speaking with him today, so she'll get back to us as soon as she can."

Her comments were providential as my cellphone rang. What would appear on all but a few caller ID's is the words "Restricted Number". What appeared on mine was "Miss OC 1978".

I answered, "Hello..."

"Hi, Rory, it's me."

At Mick's insistence, we had a long-established routine to ensure that we were positive that we were speaking to each other and not someone trying to impersonate one of us over the phone, "What brand of beer were we drinking on July 18

th,

1976," I asked her.

"Olympia," Mick answered and then asked the counter-question, "Why Olympia?"

"Don't you know it's the water?" I replied, quoting the slogan for the long-defunct Olympia Brewery. "Good to hear your voice, Mick. How's the family?"

"As busy as usual, Rory. In fact, I need to get back to them now. Can you please answer any questions that Heather or her investigator ask? I wouldn't let them bother you, but it's important."

"Could I ever say 'No' to you, Mick? Get back to your family. I'll take care of things here for you."

"Thanks Rory. Let's try to do lunch sometime next month."

I knew that this wouldn't happen, but not because either of us didn't want it to, so I said, "Of course, anytime. Have your people call me when you're available."

"I will," Mick answered with a hint of sadness in her voice. "Thanks again, Rory. You're always on my mind and in my heart."

With the call disconnected, I looked at the couple sitting on the sofa across from me and asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Why don't you tell us about your involvement with the incident in question?" the investigator said.

I thought back to a summer more than forty years ago and began to tell my tale...

~~~

Her noticing me wasn't a surprise. The beautiful and sincere smile on her face and in her eyes as they were directed straight at me definitely was.

I set the two six-packs of beer onto the belt, then placed the plastic divider between them and the groceries belonging to the person in front of me in line. I then added the package of steaks behind the beers and focused on the magazine covers lining the check-out lane at Von's.

If I had known that she would be working the express lane late on this Sunday morning, it wouldn't have made any difference. We saw each other several times a week, either when her dad and I carpooled to work, or here at her place of employment when I did what constituted grocery shopping for me. It's not that we didn't like each other, but there had always been a recognized and respected 'distance' between us.

First, there was the fact that I was almost seven years older than her. That wasn't as significant then, I suppose, since she was eighteen and I was twenty-four at the time, but when she was twelve and started trying to flirt with me while I was eighteen, the difference was much more meaningful. Then there was the fact that I had become nothing but a slovenly surfer in her eyes; someone who would rather spend time at the jetty catching waves than attending college to make something of themself.

She on the other hand was little Miss Popularity all through her high school years. Her father, Dick, had told me that she had been considering submitting an entry form for the Miss Orange County beauty pageant, so I knew that her self-image hadn't suffered upon graduation from high school, and there's no reason that it should. She was still radiantly beautiful, especially when she smiled like she was doing at that moment when my turn came to check out.

"Hi Rory," she said with a foreign warmth in her tone. "How are things?"

"Hey Mick. Things are good. I'm just getting sustenance to hold me through watching the Olympics tonight."

"That answers one question I wanted to ask you," she said. She rang up the two six-packs of beer and slid them down for the box boy to bag. She then glanced at the steaks before ringing them up.

"What else did you want to know?" I asked.

She totaled my order, stared back up to me with those amazing eyes, and said, "Twelve thirty-eight. I was wondering if you were having anyone over to watch the Olympics or if you were going to be alone tonight. I see that you're buying four nice ribeye steaks, so I was curious."

I handed her a twenty and watched as she bit her bottom lip while making change. I knew that she wasn't mathematically challenged, so I was curious about her behavior.

"I don't expect anyone to come over," I told her while trying to keep any suspicion out of my voice, "but the family pack pricing for the steaks made buying them the best value. I'll grill just one tonight unless someone pops in unexpectedly. If not, then I'll just freeze the rest of them."

She handed me my change and leaned closer. I could smell the scent of Herbal Essence shampoo when she asked, "Did my dad mention that our television is in the shop?"

"Yeah, he said that the tuner went out or something like that," I answered.

Remaining as close to me as the counter between us would allow, she nodded and said, "I really wanted to watch Shirley in the 4 x 100-meter medley tonight, so would you mind if I came over and watched it on your TV?"

"Interesting," I thought. My parents still lived next door to the Pfeiffers, but I lived about a mile away in my own apartment. Why would Mick choose to ask to watch the Olympics at my place when she had other options closer to her house, and with people that she didn't appear to loath as much as she did me?

"I hadn't planned on watching any of the swimming events," I told her. "I mean, I know that they'll be part of the television coverage, but I generally find something else to do while they're on. If you don't mind watching them alone, feel free to stop by."

I guess that I should explain here that Olympic swimmer Shirley Babashoff had attended Fountain Valley High School, and graduated the year before Michelle, or 'Mick' as I called her. Shirley was almost as popular as Mick in high school, especially since she was a bit of a celebrity for having medaled in the 1972 Munich Olympics. I didn't know how close Shirley and Mick were but assumed that they at least knew each other since Mick's older brother had dated Shirley when they were in high school. It made some sense that Mick would be interested in watching her former classmate competing once again in the Olympics, this time in Montreal.

"I get off at two," she said with a hint of 'fait accompli' in her voice. "I'll stop off at home to change and then be over to your apartment by three. Would that be okay?"

"I guess," I said. "I'm not sure when the event that Shirley is in will air, but I'm sure it will be after three. Do you want me to save one of the steaks for you?"

"I wouldn't want to impose..." she began.

"Hey, the coals will be just as hot for one steak as for two. If you're still there when I eat, I'll throw one on for you. Are you okay with beer to drink or do you want something else?"

At eighteen, Michelle was under the legal drinking age and I saw that my bringing up the possibility of her consuming alcohol while standing in her place of work distressed her. I held up my hand and said, "Bring whatever you want. If I'm not in my apartment, I'll be out at the pool."

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes this time. In them, I saw what looked more like an expression of 'hope'. She handed me my receipt and said, "Thanks for shopping at Von's."

I was still confused over our interaction as I drove the short distance from the store on Beach Boulevard to my apartment off Magnolia Avenue. I had lived next door to the Pfeiffer family since they had moved into their house on Jefferson Drive in Midway City until I had moved out of my parent's house to an apartment of my own. It dawned on me during the drive that she seemed to already know where my apartment was because she never asked me for the address.

Over the last few years, Michelle had always been 'neighborly' I guess is the best way to describe it, but more reserved around me than anyone else in her family whenever her family and mine got together. I attributed this to her low opinion of my lifestyle choices, at least those that she knew about.

Yes, I had turned down football scholarships at several universities. Yes, I worked a blue-collar job installing and repairing air conditioning units. Yes, I dressed like a beach bum, because when I wasn't working, that's exactly what I was, at least during the summer. From September through the middle of June, I also attended Golden West College, taking certification classes for home appliance repair as well as business courses which would allow me to run my own company one day.

I was single, working forty to fifty hours a week, bringing home good money for someone my age, and banking the majority of what I earned. Between work and surfing, I stayed in good physical shape with a deep tan to complement my long sun-bleached hair. I drove a five-year-old Datsun pick-up because I didn't need anything fancier to carry my board to the beach. There were enough girls, and women, who were attracted to the care-free 'bad boy' image of a surfer that I could get laid almost any time I wanted.

I placed the beer and steaks into my refrigerator and then sat down on my sofa with the sports section from the Sunday paper. I had missed the opening ceremonies for the Olympics the day before, so I was hoping to get some sort of idea on the day's schedule of events from the paper. The events scheduled for the day were listed, but all the times were for when they were being actually performed in Montreal and not when the television coverage would air them.

Most of the events were what I would consider boring qualifying trials, but events in some categories, such as shooting, weightlifting, swimming, and cycling would have finals that day. None of those really interested me, but the USA Men's basketball team was scheduled to play Italy in a Group B qualifying game, and that's the event that I had been planning to watch when Mick had asked to come over.

From watching previous Olympic Games, I thought I had a pretty good idea of how the American broadcasts would be run. Most qualifying events would get cursory coverage during the afternoon, but popular events, such as gymnastics and men's basketball would get the most coverage to allow people the opportunity to start tracking their favorites. Events that featured a strong American presence would get priority coverage and typically be broadcast at the best times, usually in the evening when more people could watch them.

I was guessing that the basketball game featuring the American team would not be scheduled for broadcast until after five in the afternoon, and maybe not until after eight. This meant that there was a good chance that the swimming events that Mick wanted to watch would be over by then and she would have no reason to hang around my place afterward.

Look, Mick was not unpleasant for me to be around when other people were present. She would hold up her end of a conversation with someone else in a friendly manner and pay little attention to me. My concern was that she and I had never spent any time together alone, where she would be focused on me rather than other people talking to her. This would make undressing her with my eyes a lot harder for me to disguise. I had hoped that the Olympic coverage on TV would distract both of us.

Television pre-coverage was supposed to start in at two o'clock, so I assumed that I would be able to get a better idea of the planned broadcast schedule then. I turned the television on and settled back to read more of the paper while waiting for the Olympic coverage to start.

I had my front door open, so when Mick knocked on the aluminum frame of the closed screen door, she could see me check the time on my watch. It was only ten after two. There's no way that she could have gone home after work to change and be at my front door this soon. I motioned for her to come in as I silently watched the television screen to monitor the broadcast schedule being explained by the studio host, Jim McKay.

When I didn't hear the screen door open, I glanced over and saw that both of Mick's hands were full. I rose to open the door for her and as she stepped through, I took the covered dish that she was holding in her right hand, "What's this?" I asked.

"Potato salad," Mick said as she glanced around my apartment, inspecting everything visible with her bright, attentive, and beautiful eyes.

I carried the potato salad into the small kitchen and placed it onto a shelf in my refrigerator before turning back and asking, "I thought that you didn't get off work until two. How'd you have time to go home, make potato salad, change your clothes, and drive over here in ten minutes?"

Mick's expression was playful as she set her purse and the beach bag that she had been holding in her other hand onto one of the kitchen chairs and said, "I made the potato salad yesterday. It's always better after it's had a chance to sit overnight."

"Okay," I said, "So you didn't just make potato salad to bring over here. That makes sense because you and I didn't arrange this until this morning."

Her grin could be almost as sexy as her smile. It was her eyes that set the tone for each. "I asked Didi to bring me the potato salad when she brought me a change of clothes so that I wouldn't have to run to the house before coming over here. My work clothes are in my car."

I glanced at the beach bag and asked, "Then what is in that bag?"

"You had mentioned that I might find you at the pool," she said, "so I thought that I would bring my bathing suit in case you might let me join you there. I brought a towel and a few other articles of clothing just to be prepared."

Mick was wearing a light blue sleeveless cotton blouse and cut-off denim shorts with flip-flops on her feet. Her shoulder-length blonde hair was in a ponytail that seemed to bounce without any noticeable movement of her head or body.

I stood in my kitchen, silently studying Mick and trying to figure out the motivation for her sudden interest in visiting my apartment while she continued to gaze around the areas of the apartment visible from her position near the kitchen table. This was just a small breakfast nook area adjacent to the kitchen that provided a transition from the living room area.

I kept my apartment neat and tidy, which I think that Mick was surprised to see. I said, "I guess we could head over to the pool for a while. Do you want to take anything to drink down with you? I have a couple of diet sodas and of course, beer."

"I'm good for right now," Mick said. She pointed to the three-shelf bookcase that my television sat on top of and asked, "Are those your yearbooks from high school?"

I glanced at the bookcase and then back to Mick, "Yes, my sophomore, junior, and senior years. Why?"

"Can we take those down to the pool with us?" Mick asked. "I would love to look through them if you wouldn't mind. A lot of my teachers taught the same years that you were there and it would be interesting to see what they looked like back then."

"Not a good idea," I said while shaking my head. "While kids aren't allowed to live in this complex, quite a few tenants have custody of their kids on weekends and bring them here. This being a Sunday afternoon, there's likely to be a few rowdy kids still splashing around the pool and I don't want the yearbooks to get wet. You can look at them later though."

I had run into a few of my former high school teachers since graduating and knew how the years had been kinder to some than others, so Mick's interest in seeing them then versus now didn't sound unreasonable.

"Okay," Mick acquiesced, "Where can I change?"

I pointed to a short hallway on the back wall of the living room and said, "Your choice, either the bathroom, which is the door to the left, or my bedroom, which is the door straight ahead."

I didn't feel that she needed to know that turning right in the hallway would lead to the second bedroom, which I used for storage of my surfboard and other items that would typically be stored in a garage since my apartment didn't come with one of those.

Mick glanced at the board shorts that I still wore before picking up her beach bag and carrying it into my bedroom. These were the same shorts that she had seen me in at the store earlier, and one of three pairs of board shorts that constituted the majority of my wardrobe when I wasn't working or in a class.

While she didn't close the door behind her, she did walk out of view for me from where I remained in the kitchen. I didn't know if she would come into view if I went back to the living room, but I stayed put until she reappeared with her bikini on and carrying a towel. I resisted the strong desire to stand in my kitchen, simply staring at her bikini-clad body by walking out to the living room and turning off my television.

I had never seen Mick wear anything other than very conservative one-piece swimsuits in all the years I had known her. My parents' house had a pool, and the Pfeiffer family were frequent guests at our house and in the pool. It was on one of those occasions only three years previous that I had bestowed upon her the nickname 'Rip Curl Girl'. I don't know if her older brother, Rick ever told her the meaning of the name, but I have suspected that he did at some point by the way that Mick's attitude towards me deteriorated in recent years.

I placed a ball chain around my neck that held one of the keys to my apartment and said, "Let's go."

"You're not going to leave your t-shirt here?" Mick asked.

"I suppose I could," I said. The t-shirt had both sleeves ripped off, and tears in the collar, so it slips on and off easily. The key on the chain bounced against my bare chest as it cleared the shirt. I couldn't help noticing that Mick seemed quite focused on the key for some reason as it settled against my tanned skin.

I twisted the throw on the doorknob to lock my front door and held the screen door open for a silent Mick to exit onto the small porch. I had been hoping that she would proceed in front of me to the pool so that I could watch that perfect heart-shaped ass in her bikini bottom, but she waited for me to close the door and took up position next to me instead. When she looped her left arm around my right, I didn't know what to think.