Nancy Robinson was secretary of the Oswegatchie Hills Club, a social organization catering to the homeowners in the resort neighborhood where I grew up. Her husband, Herb, was the figurehead president of the OHC, and a successful CPA. They hailed from New Haven.
She had two children. The oldest, Robby, was two years younger than me--eight when I first met him. His younger sister, Dawn, was a beach pail savant, a builder of sandcastles with seaweed tide walls. I saw her do little else. Robby's R's came out as W's.
The Robison family arrived two weeks before the regular summer crowd and had done so for years; Herb wanted time to schmooze the year-round residents. Nancy stayed mostly at their house, whooshing out the winter's dust while waiting for the arrival of her posey--three other wives who, following Nancy's lead--ran OHC's activities. Herb gave the speeches. Nancy made it click. Golf, horseback riding, clay tennis courts, private beaches, sailing, and all the rest of it started up in late May and continued into early September. The Robinson's beachfront property was their summer home.
I was a privileged eighteen-year-old punk. My family, which consisted of my parents and me, lived year-round on the point. My father, Lloyd, was an oncologist. My mother, Marta, was an oncologist. We lived on a hill that overlooked the ocean, a golf course, and the sprawl of my neighbor's houses.
My buddies were an insufferable bunch of townies that, much to the annoyance of my hoity toity neighbors, I invited over on a regular basis: the Flanagan brothers, Todd Carlson, his brother, Jim, and the worst of us Robert Course; a well-built nineteen-year-old who backed his big talk up with his fists. He wore engineer boots the year round and rolled cigarette packs into his t-shirt sleeves. He wore a knife strap on his ankle. He carved his name on trees and backstops. He talked about pussy often calling it snatch. His dog, Lucky, had mange and was his constant companion.
For all the gale we blew, we fought primarily among ourselves; a mix of fists and wrestling matches that usually landed us on the ground with Robert encouraging Lucky to mount at will. Nobody thought to challenge Robert's authority. He'd attack without warning. But one day, Todd, stood up to Robert after he'd said that he'd finger-fucked his mother the night before and would Todd like a sniff. Todd slapped Roberts's hand out of his face, and a regular fight broke out between them. It ended up with Todd on the ground, keeping Robert at bay with kicks while Robert tried to lunge in with punches. The kicks won the day with Robert catching a couple of stiff ones and then waving off the fight with a sarcastic laugh. When Todd stood up, he was red-faced and slightly taller in my eyes. I'd fought Todd on many occasions and usually had a slight edge. I reasoned from what I'd just witnessed that I could beat Robert. I planned then and there to take no more orders.
I had my opportunity less than a week later while we stood on the golf course in direct view of the Robinsons' house. Robert demanded a cigarette and I told him to get his own pack. I ducked his punch, caught him in a headlock, and twisted him to the ground. Thinking back on it, I believe now that he wanted to concede. I quickly had him vulnerable to any number of punches I might mess up his face with, but it wasn't in me, and I let him up. From that day until the day, he succumbed to H.I.V. he called me his champion.
Unknown to me, at the time of my fight with Robert, Nancy Robinson had watched the fight from her house. I found out three days later when she touched my shoulder while I read a comic in a local magazine shop. I'd never gotten a close-up look at her before--let alone exchanged words. Her voice was soft but quite emphatic. She was taller than me and smelled of tan lotion. She had a confident and winning smile. She bumped a tit into my arm while feigning interest in the comic.
"I'm surprised your parents let you read such stuff," she said, reaching over and turning one of the pages. She was fragrant under her arms.
"Hell, I'm old enough to join the army," I said.
"Well, if I caught one of my kids with a comic, I'd warm their bottom." She slapped my ass and said, "A good warm whipping is what I'd give them."
She wore gold studs in her pierced ears and close-cropped hair in tight curls. She had muscular legs and was overly tan. She wore Terry cloth shorts and sandals.
"Ma'am?"
"Nancy," she quickly corrected. "I was rooting for you the other day against the bully. I love a good fight. You're quite the tough young man. And handsome, too. How many girlfriends do you have?"
"A couple,"
"I'll bet you do. Are they, good little girls or the other kind?"
"They're alright,"
"I see, and what about you?"
