Decades

By the time he got to the resort, Doug was full of plans for their future in the past. But he hadn't yet settled on how to confront Kelly. He suspected she somehow knew it wasn't a dream, but without knowing for sure he concluded it was best to let her address the matter. With that settled, Doug busied himself with his office duties until she arrived just before the restaurant opened for lunch. Though he did his best to concentrate on work, the memory of Kelly's beautiful body and the brief welcome she had given him last night made for a constant presence alone with him in the office.

Kelly was at her post just inside the dining room when Doug went out for the walkthrough. She gave him a cordial smile and was all business as they prepared for opening. Just before the doors were to open, he finally gave in and broke the ice. "I'm planning on another trip tonight," he said.

"Where?" Kelly asked innocently.

"To the jukebox."

Kelly looked at him in shock. "No! Oh my God..." She crossed one leg behind the other as if to hide something.

"Don't tell me you didn't know it was real," Doug said.

"You guys on an acid trip last night or something?" Mr. Sanborn demanded, appearing out of nowhere in the kitchen doorway. Doug turned around and opened his mouth to reply, but Mr. Sanborn beat him to the punch. "I don't know what the fuck you guys are talking about, but it sounds totally inappropriate for our dining room, okay? Keep it in private."

"It's not --" Doug began.

"I don't want to hear it, Doug. And Kelly, if you're going to mess around, you should stick to an old hand like me. Let me know if you're interested, I'll show you a lot more than a prep like Doug could."

"You bastard!" Kelly snapped.

"Any more of that and you're fired," Mr. Sanborn said with a sugary smile. "Doug, I want you to put that comment on her file, got that?"

"Yes sir." But of course Doug had no intention of doing any such thing. He hoped for the chance to tell Kelly as much, but she turned defiantly and opened the dining room door to the first waiting customers before Mr. Sanborn disappeared back into the kitchen. Doug had no choice but to retreat to his office.

Kelly banged into his office without knocking three hours later. "You didn't really write me up, did you?" she demanded.

"How could you even ask me that?!" Doug replied. He realized an instant too late that her attitude deserved "yes" for an answer, but lying never came naturally to Doug.

"That doesn't answer my question," Kelly said, near tears of rage. "That man is a pig, and he deserved what I said! You know that!"

"Haven't denied that, have I?" Doug reminded her.

Kelly took a deep breath. "You also haven't answered my question."

"And I won't," Doug said. "You ought to know the answer. Or else what kind of bastard do you think

I

am?"

"The kind I made a fool of myself for last night," Kelly whined, flopping down now in the chair before his desk. "Doug, I'm so embarrassed about that, now that I know it really happened. I'm not that kind of woman."

"What kind? The kind who would date a working class kid like me?"

"No!" Kelly replied a bit too vehemently, and Doug could read the truth all too well between the lines. She continued, "the kind who..." she looked behind her to be sure his office door was closed. "...goes around naked outside with a platonic male friend! I take my body seriously and I don't act like a sex object! Usually."

"Did I treat you like a sex object?" Doug asked.

"No," Kelly admitted. "And thank you. But still, Doug, you're not really my type. You're just not. You're the goofy cousin who can make me laugh type, not the one I'm going to fall in love with and

definitely

not the type I'm going to just fool around with, if I were ever going to do that."

"I'd noticed," Doug said.

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"It's supposed to mean every time things start feeling like we're really close, you always have to say something nasty just to remind me that we're just buddies, and not even really very close buddies. I can't exactly not notice that."

"Then we're clear," Kelly announced, standing up.

"Not entirely," Doug admitted. "Let's face it, last night you did let your guard down for once and it was really sweet. The way you hugged me in the water was...I don't know,

delicious

. And remember, I didn't even know you were naked until you did that."

"Maybe I was just testing you," Kelly said. "Just seeing if you were a typical guy who turns into a drooling idiot every time he sees a vagina."

"There you go again with the nasty comments." Doug forced his voice to sound calm.

Kelly took a deep breath. "Look, we went too far. Don't expect me to let that happen again."

"I already didn't," Doug reassured her. "So do you want to visit the jukebox again tonight?"

"Dream on, lover boy." And she nearly tore the office door off its hinges letting herself out.

Though he was hurt, Doug found the image of Kelly on the beach far less troublesome for the afternoon. When he left shortly before six, there was no sign of her, but he had convinced himself by then that she would apologize soon enough. On the walk home, he wondered was there anything he should apologize for? He felt he had handled the situation in the water like a gentleman, but perhaps there was something he was missing due to the "male privilege" Kelly was always reminding him of. It was entirely possible, but he could think of nothing he should have changed. Unless Kelly had been expecting him to proclaim his love for her that morning or some such. That was beginning to sound like a chance he should have taken after all.

He was still lost in thought on the matter when he arrived at the old school. Absentmindedly he cut across the yard rather than taking the sidewalk, and the matter of Kelly was so heavy on his mind that he failed to notice he was next door in Mrs. Kittredge's yard -- until her cigarette-soaked voice roared at him from the porch. "All right, Douglas, that's enough!"

Doug's head snapped to attention. "Mrs. Kittredge?"

There she was on her porch, and she had managed to get to her feet although she was tethered to her oxygen tank as usual. "You get off my lawn! Only my cats get to walk there! You know that."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Kittredge."

"You should be. No manners at all. Dyke grandmothers can't raise a boy worth a damn."

"

Excuse

me?"

Aunt Doro saved him with a call from the kitchen window. "Doug! Come help me with the trash here! We've got a mess."

"Ok, Aunt Doro!" Doug knew the kitchen would really be spotless as usual, but he was grateful for the rescue.

Sure enough, there was no trash problem. "Didn't we always tell you to steer clear of her?" Aunt Doro asked as soon as Doug had let himself in the back door.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course you did. I'm sorry. Had a lot on my mind and I wasn't paying attention." Then a crazy idea occurred to him. "So, Aunt Doro, I don't think I ever asked, what's the story with Mrs. Kittredge anyway?"

Aunt Doro set down her wooden spoon and gestured for Doug to carry the stew pot to the table, which he did. "Irene Kittredge, class of fifty-seven and her name was Irene James back then," she recited. "Lovely girl, if you can believe it, Miss Popularity and she knew it, but she was gorgeous, Doug. And she looked adorable in her sweaters and poodle skirts. But she smoked a lot, even back then. Came to class sometimes with brandy on her breath as well, but I could never prove anything. Married Roy Kittredge, class of fifty-two, when he got back from the service, and she convinced him to buy the house next door on the GI Bill because she never wanted high school to end."

"Man, that's sad," Doug said.

"It certainly is, but it's not as sad as the way Roy treated her," Aunt Doro continued. "I'm sure you can recall hearing him scream at her when you lived here before. Your grandmother and I lived with that for years and years. He drank, a lot, and so did she, and I'm pretty sure he beat her up a few times. I won't even start on the attitude their kids gave us -- James, class of seventy-eight and Sally, class of eighty. They were at least smart enough to get away from their parents. And she's probably still reliving the glory days every night over there." Aunt Doro gave Doug a meaningful look.

"Still doesn't want to let go of high school at that age?" Doug asked. "Pathetic."

"Yes, Douglas, but she's only making the same mistake you tend to make. You ought to think about that."

"Hey, I've never wished I were back at Janice Payne!" Doug protested. "I mean, maybe a few times freshman year at Columbia when I was having a hard time adjusting, but that's it. You certainly won't find me living next door to the place fifty years from now!"

"That's not quite what I meant," Aunt Doro said. "My point is, Irene has wasted a great deal of her life pining for the past that probably wasn't as wonderful as she remembers it being."

Doug wanted to steer the conversation elsewhere. "Mr. Kittredge died while I was in New York, did he?" Doug recalled his howling all too well, but now it occurred to him that it had been absent since his return.

"Lung cancer, three years ago. And she's got emphysema. I'm sure you've noticed the oxygen tank."

"Everybody smoked in the fifties," Doug said, "As you always say. Too bad, it sounds like such a wonderful time besides that."

"If you were a man," Aunt Doro confirmed. "Doug, there's a reason why Irene Kittredge submitted to all those years of abuse. Back then nobody told girls they didn't have to put up with being treated that way. In fact, a lot of them really did have to put up with it; there was no other choice! And they were led to believe being on your own was worse. You can't know what it was like. But you

can

get it through your head that the fifties were much more than sock-hops and root beer, you know."

An argument rose up in Doug's throat. But then he recalled what Aunt Doro and Kelly had both been telling him lately about living in the past, and he swallowed his objection. Aunt Doro had sat down and was ladling stew into her bowl. Doug stood up and leaned over to hug her from behind. "I'm sorry, Aunt Doro. You're right, I don't get it and I need to think about it a lot more."

Aunt Doro smiled and nodded at him as he retook his seat. "I'm impressed," she admitted.

Doug was certain he had noticed a twinkle in her eye at the mention of root beer. But he didn't comment on the matter.

An hour and a half later, the dishes were washed and Aunt Doro had retired to her room to watch television. Doug, armed with a swig of liquid courage and a 1957 yearbook he had dug out of the closet in the smallest bedroom (the one he had usually reserved for his science homework in high school, thus he'd studied the books on the shelves there at great length), tiptoed downstairs to the cellar door. The cellar light was still on from when he and Kelly had come in the night before; Doug turned it out and held carefully to the railing as he shuffled down the steps. He knew the way through the maze of bookcases in the dark and soon had his hand on the doorknob. Once again it opened easily, still to Doug's astonishment. He would have to find a way to get Aunt Doro to explain just what had happened on his sister's visit to the room all those years before. But only when he was up to the challenge of talking about his sister, which wasn't often.

The room was once again pristine and lit with the same eerie red glow, and this time there was only one glass on the table. Doug sat down on the couch and took a sip from the glass -- lemon tea this time, cold and crisp -- and opened the yearbook. There were pages upon pages of adorable looking girls in poodle skirts and guys trying much too hard to look tough in their t-shirts with cigarette packs rolled up in their sleeves, but Doug was in a hurry. He could admire the photographs later. For now, he flipped through the seniors to the J's. Molly Jackson...Benjamin Jalon...Irene James. The lovely, innocent face that grinned at him across the decades, framed by perfect dark rolled curls, bore no resemblance to his decrepit neighbor that he could detect. But there, below the Shakespeare quote he didn't bother to decipher, was proof: "My heart belongs to Roy!"

Doug took a long look at the photograph, until he was sure he would know the face, and then snapped the book shut and set it on the table. After a long sip of tea, he strode to the jukebox and set about guessing at what could get him to the late fifties. Oldies weren't Doug's strong point. Rolling Stones? He was pretty sure they weren't that old. Perry Como? A bit

too

old, he guessed. Buddy Holly was probably about right. Doug punched in his selection and sat back down, and closed his eyes as soon as "Rave On" crackled to life in the old speakers.

"Where the hell is Lebanon anyway?" snapped a male voice over the tinny speakers. Doug opened his eyes to find himself behind the wheel of a car he didn't believe he'd ever seen before. It was nighttime, but bright lights from outside were reflecting every which way off the chrome-laden dashboard. Doug looked down to see he was dressed just like the boys in the yearbook: tight jeans, white t-shirt. Peering down to see his shoes, which looked like beat-up wingtips, he saw the name of the car scrawled in cursive on the foot-mat. Studebaker? Doug had never heard of it.

A similarly attired young man was browsing through a

Life

magazine in the passenger seat. He must have been the one asking about Lebanon, Doug realized, for the cover photo caption read "Marines Move into Lebanon".

"Lebanon?" Doug repeated. "It's in the Middle East. Always seems to be a war there."

"I know

where

it is, bud!" the other guy replied. "I just meant, where is it for us, that we've got to send the Marines there. Remember, I'm joining up at the end of the summer. What do I want with Lebanon?"

Before Doug could answer, a girl rolled up on skates outside the driver's side window and set two ice cream sodas on a tray. "Seventy-five cents, please!" she said, leaning in. "Hi, Andy!" she said to Doug's passenger. "Who's your friend?"

"My cousin Doug, up from New York for a few days," said Andy. "The drinks are on him, ain't that right, Doug?"

"You bet," Doug said, as much in awe of the cheap desserts as of the girl and the car. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three quarters, wishing there was time to check the dates before he handed them over.

In any event, the girl didn't look at them either before depositing them in her change pouch. "Thanks, Doug," she said. "Going to see you guys in the dance later? It's reunion night!"

"We'll be in," Andy promised. As soon as she was gone, Andy threw down the magazine in frustration, though he took the soda gently from Doug, adding that he didn't want to mess up Doug's upholstery.

Doug took a closer look at the magazine cover as he started in on his soda. July 28, 1958. "Oh good, she's at least nineteen now, if she graduated last year," he said, realizing a moment too late that he'd said it out loud.

"Yeah, we all are," Andy said. "That's how first-year reunions work, don't they? All the pretty boys and preppy girls back from college, and the rest of us here to show them what ain't changed in a year. Who're you talking about, anyway?"

"Irene James," Doug replied nonchalantly.

Andy nearly spat out a mouthful of ice cream. "Aw, hell, buddy, you don't want to mess with her!"

"Mess with who, Andy?" asked another girl, dressed much like the waitress, who had been walking by the Studebaker at the opportune moment and was now resting her arms on the open window. "Not me, I hope!"

"Course not, Sally," Andy reassured her. "No, my cousin Doug here wants to meet Irene!"

"Irene!" repeated Sally. Looking over at Doug now, she told him, "Forget it! If you're not one of her little circle, you don't want anything to do with her. Ask any girl, she gets really nasty really fast. Even worse if you're a guy, now that Sarge is back in town."

"Sarge," Doug repeated. "Is that Mister Kittredge?"

"Mister Kittredge!" Andy burst into laughter. "Boy, he's gonna love you if you call him that. Legend in his own mind, that guy is, just 'cause he's a few years older and he was in Korea. His first name's Roy, but I wouldn't call him that unless you want a punch in the mouth. He made Sargent in Korea, and now he expects everyone to call him that. Only Irene can call him Roy. But he'd probably love 'Mister Kittredge'."

"And trust me, Doug, you don't want to talk to Irene when he's around," Sally added. "Last time he was here, Johnny Becker asked Irene to dance and his buddies had to carry him out of the hall."

"How do you know about Irene anyway?" Andy asked. "I sure as heck didn't tell you about her."

"I guess everyone knows about Irene," Doug said.

"It's okay, Doug, I can find you a date for tonight," Sally told him, standing up. "One of my best friends is here on her own, she'd love to meet you after you guys finish eating."

"Not Pauline!" Andy snapped. "Sally, you know she's always trouble."

"Sounds like your cousin likes trouble," Sally told him with a saucy grin, and then sauntered off to the dance hall where another jukebox was blasting.

"What's wrong with Pauline?" Doug asked as soon as they were alone again.

"I think you might need to see that for yourself," Andy said. "I just sure hope you can run fast."

"Those are just the odds I like," Doug quipped.

"I guess so, if you want to mess with Irene," Andy said. "Trust me, though, don't do that."

As soon as they were done with the sodas, Andy handed his glass back to Doug to put back on the tray. "Little Eddie will take it from there," he said.

"Little Eddie?"

"The dancehall owner's son. He's only twelve but his dad lets him work here, bussing the dishes. You should see the way the girls coo over him! He really wants to be one of the tough guys here. It's hilarious."

Even as Andy spoke, Doug turned to see a fair-haired pre-teen collecting up the empty glasses and wiping off the tray. "Eddie?" Doug asked.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Eddie growled in a squeaky voice that hadn't dropped yet.

"Told you not to mess with him, Doug!" Andy said with a laugh.

"Yeah, and who're you laughin' at?" Eddie added.

"Not you, Eddie, I don't want no trouble!" Andy stifled his chuckles and swung open the huge Studebaker door. "C'mon, Doug, let's go meet your date." And Doug got a fleeting look at the beach road looking almost as rustic as in his photo of Grandma and Aunt Doro, quaint gift shops and tourist traps everywhere, mostly closed for the night.

The dancehall was awash in bright colors and full skirts, and Doug quickly decided when it came to fashion he preferred the fifties to the eighties. One couldn't mistake the scene for a fifties movie, as the cars and clothes looked worn rather than fresh out of a museum; but it had a charm all its own. A rockabilly tune that sounded vaguely familiar wafted out of the speakers in each corner of the room, and the floor was pleasantly crowded with dancing couples. Doug wondered how many of the youthful faces he'd have recognized if he'd studied the yearbook more closely, and how many much-older ones were still to be found around Pascatawa in his own time. With Kelly and Aunt Doro's admonishments in his mind, he also noted that everyone in the room was white -- that had at least begun to change nowadays. But Doug quickly concluded that he had no means to do anything about diversity at that point. How many years was it until the civil rights act and all that? Doug promised himself he'd look it up when he got home.

"We all used to come here every weekend," Andy told him. "There was nothing else to do in the winter." Looking around the crowded dancefloor now at all the friends he hadn't seen in a year, he added, "This might be the last time we're all together. Or really it's not even all of us, since some of the guys already joined the army or navy, and a couple of the gals are married with babies now. So I guess it's our last chance to just dance all night."