Golden Opportunity 1

"Anyone planning to go to the Bicentennial Dance at the community center tomorrow night?" Josh Riker asked as he reached for the next to last piece of pizza.

"I might," Stephen Scott answered, "if Laurie wants to go."

Much to the annoyance of his friends, Stephen was practically incapable of answering any question without pointing out that he was the only one of the group with a steady girlfriend.

"Hey, is it true that you have to ask her permission to go to the bathroom too?" Jack Lawrence chimed in.

"Fuck you, Lawrence," Stephen shot back, "I don't see you having a steady girl to go out with every weekend."

"That's because there's only one of me and it's not fair to confine that to only one girl," Jack retorted.

"Keep believing that," Stephen countered.

It was a point of contention among three of the four young men sitting around the back table of Scarpacci's Pizzeria as to whether Stephen was actually getting some from Laurie. They'd all known each other since grade school, with Stephen and Laurie being a couple since sophomore year of high school.

"How bout you, Simon?" Josh asked the last of the group who had been content to just sit there and drink his soda.

"I think I'm just about Bicentennialed out," Simon Clarke said after putting his soda down. "I think I'll pass."

After a senior year in which just about everything from the yearbook to the colors for graduation revolved around the fact that 1976 was the two hundredth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, Simon wasn't the only one who felt that way. And the actual 4th of July was still a week away.

Still, it had been a fun filled senior year, even if, unlike Stephen, he didn't have a girlfriend. Which was made worse by The fact that since Simon had repeated fourth grade due to illness, he was a year older than the rest of the group, the youngest of which had recently turned eighteen.

"What about you, Josh," Stephen asked, "you going?"

"Might as well," Josh answered. "After all, what else is there to do around here on a Saturday night?"

Stephen and Jack nodded in agreement. The summer was only beginning and they were already bored. They figured this year would be different, after all, now they were all men - technically at least.

The last of the pizza now gone, the quartet made their way out of Scarpacci's. Stephen excused himself, saying he had to go and meet Laurie.

"Yeah, we know," Josh and Jack said almost in unison, as he hurried off to meet her.

"You think she's really putting out for him?" Josh asked for what had to be the hundredth time once Stephen was out of earshot.

'Damned if I know," Simon answered, "but even if he hasn't ever said she does, he certainly acts like it."

Even if Stephen wasn't, Simon well knew his friend had certainly lucked out with just having Laurie for his girlfriend. Back when they were kids, Laurie had been the proverbial skinny, pigtail-haired girl. Add to that braces and glasses and you had quirky kid that only a mother could love. Still, Stephen lived just across the street from her and they'd become best friends, no matter what anyone else thought. Then came high school, the braces came off, her eyes grew stronger, and Laurie filled up and out, sprouting a respectable bust, the nipples of which were, under the right conditions, visible even through her bra and blouse.

"You know what I think?" Jack offered.

"If we said no, would you not tell us?" Simon replied.

"I think he hasn't even gotten to second base with her," Jack stated, ignoring Simon's question. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if mister big shot Stephen spends his nights whacking off to her picture."

"And whose picture do you use?" Josh asked Jack.

Both he and Simon laughed at the retort, so true that even Jack finally joined in. Not that he would admit it, Simon would be happy to regularly get to second base with a girl. That was a place he'd only been twice. First with a another counselor at the summer camp he worked at, and once with Cindy Lyman. And just about everyone had been to second base with Cindy.

"We're gonna head over to Jack's house and hang out," Josh said, "you wanna come?"

"Nah, I promised my uncle I'd stop by and help him with a few things," Simon replied.

"Okay, we'll see you later then," Josh said, "let me know if you change your mind about the dance, we'd probably have some fun."

"Okay, I'll do that," Simon offered as the two older boys headed down the block.

-=-=-=-

Simon's uncle, Ryan Peterson, lived on the second floor of the same apartment building that his family lived in. In fact, both his father's and Ryan's parents had lived there since before either of them were born. So it was no surprise that Ryan had married Donna Clarke soon after he came home from the service. Despite Ryan being six years older, they had practically grown up in each other's apartment.

His Aunt Donna had passed away fourteen months before at the age of sixty-four, but Simon was till close to his uncle, even if that relation had only been by marriage. His own father, the youngest of the previous generation, had died in a car accident when Simon had been ten. In the seven years since, Ryan Peterson had done all he could to fill that void.

"How's it going Uncle Ryan?" Simon said as he walked into the living room of his uncle's apartment after letting himself in with the key he'd given him.

"Can't complain," Ryan replied with a smile, "and even if I did, who'd listen?"

"I would," Simon grinned back.

"Yeah, you would," Ryan agreed.

"My mom said you had some things that you needed moved," Simon said.

"Just a box with some of your Aunt's old things," the seventy-one year old said. "I want to donate them to the senior's center, I'm sure someone over there can use them."

"No problem," Simon said as he walked over to one of the boxes Ryan had indicated and tested its weight. "I might have to borrow your shopping cart to take these," he judged,

"You know were it is," his uncle replied.

"Anything you want me to bring back?" Simon said after getting the cart and loading the two boxes into it.

"No, I'm fine," he insisted.

"I noticed that you haven't been going to the center that much lately," Simon pointed out. "I know you like to play cards with the guys there. You feeling okay?"

" I'm feeling fine," Ryan insisted, "or at least what passes for fine when you get to be my age."

"Then how come you haven't been going?" Simon repeated.

"Well if you must know," he finally answered. "I've been trying to avoid running into Helen Petrowski."

"Why would you want to avoid her?" Simon asked further.

"I have my reasons," Ryan said without elaborating further.

"I don't understand," Simon replied, "You've been going to the center since before Aunt Donna passed away. Why stop now?"

"Because she makes me uncomfortable, that's all," Ryan quickly said.

"She makes you uncomfortable?" Simon repeated. "How could she ..."

He paused in mid-sentence as it hit him. Mrs. Petrowski, whose own husband had passed away last year, was hitting on his uncle.

"Uncle Ryan, you should go for it," Simon said after his uncle had confirmed his guess, feeling a sort of role reversal in giving the older man dating advice. "There's no reason you should be alone if you don't have to be. I know Aunt Donna wouldn't want you to be."

Simon vaguely remembered Mrs. Petrowski from back when he was a Cub Scout. She had been one of the den mothers but had left when he was about nine. Still, what he remembered of her was that she was a really nice woman.

"It's not easy to explain," Ryan said.

"You can tell me anything, you know that, right?"

"If she was just looking for someone to keep company with, well then that would be fine," he began to explain. "After all, we grew up in the same neighborhood and have a number of things in common."

"Then what's the problem?" Simon asked curiously.

"She... she wants someone in her bed too," he finally answered after hesitating a long moment.

"Well, nothing wrong with that," Simon smiled.

"Damn thing doesn't work."

"What?"

"I said the damn thing doesn't work," he repeated. "hasn't worked in years. It didn't matter to your Aunt, she hadn't been interested in that part of marriage for a long time."

"Well maybe that wouldn't matter," Simon offered, "You said Aunt Donna wasn't interested, maybe she isn't that interested either."

"Oh she's interested all right," Ryan corrected him. "She was very specific as to what she had in mind the last few times she's invited me over."

Curious as he was, Simon thought it best not to ask what she had so specifically said.

"I still think you should take a chance," Simon offered. "What do you have to lose?"

"Only my pride," Ryan insisted. "It's not like I could take a magic pill and suddenly act like I was eighteen again."

"I'm nineteen and I don't get to act like that," Simon thought before turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand. "Suite yourself then," he added as he took hold of the cart and said goodbye.

"Do me a favor, if you see Mrs. Petrowski at the center, tell her something that would make her leave me alone."

"What should I tell her?"

"I don't even care if you tell her the truth," Ryan bellowed, "as long as it gets her off my back so I can play cards again."

"I'll try and think of something," Simon said as he closed and locked the door behind him.

-=-=-=-

The charity organizers at the center were happy to get his uncle's donation. They assured him that his Aunt's old things would certainly be put to good use. On his way out, Simon passed the card game his uncle so missed and one of the men involved recognized him, calling him over by name.

"How's your uncle doing?" Douglas Myer asked once Simon came up to the table. "We've missed him around here. He's not sick, is he?"

"No he's fine, Mr. Myer," Simon replied. "He's just been a little busy lately, that's all. He should be back soon."

"I figured he was just tired of losing," another man Simon didn't know said. "I miss his money."

Simon smiled, glancing at the table at the piles of change in front of each player. If his uncle were the worse poker player possible, and having been in the Navy before and during the war he was hardly that, he could play and lose all afternoon and only be a few dollars behind. Money he could easily afford to lose.

"I'll tell him you asked about him," Simon said, ignoring the fact that the man hadn't given him his name. He was sure Ryan would know who he was talking about.

Saying good-bye to Ryan's poker buddies, Simon again headed toward the door on the other side of the community center. He had just stepped outside into the parking lot when a voice caused him to stop.

"Excuse me, but did I hear one of those men say you were Ryan Peterson's nephew?" a woman asked.

"Yes I am," he replied.

"Well it's nice to meet you," she replied as she offered her hand. "I'm Helen Petrowski."

"You're Mrs. Petrowski?" Simon asked in surprise.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, I just didn't recognize you, that's all."

"Should you have recognized me?" she asked.

"Well, when I was a kid, you were one of the den mothers in my pack and, well I thought I'd, I guess I just thought I'd recognize you, that's all."

"Simon Clarke," the older woman said as if to jog her own memory. "Simon Clarke, yes now I remember. You were a sort of quiet little boy, kept to himself a lot."

"Yeah, that was me," Simon admitted.

"Well, it's certainly obvious that you've outgrown all of that," Helen said as she looked him over again from head to toe. "You've turned into a fine young man, a very handsome one as well."

"Thank you," he said, not sure what else to say in reply.

Several possibilities did present themselves however, none that he felt he should use. The foremost of which was that she was hardly the old lady he expected.

Not having seen Mrs. Petrowski since he wore Cub Scout blue, Simon had formed a much older image of what she would look like now. Back then, anyone older than thirty might as well have been on the same level as his grandparents. He knew from his uncle that you had to be at least sixty-two to belong to the senior center, but if he hadn't know that, Simon would've guessed Helen Petrowski to be a lot younger.

Simon stood five six and the woman in front of him looked to be at least three inches taller. She had rich blonde hair without a trace of gray, but that only meant that she frequented the hairdresser much like his own mother did. Unlike his mom, or most of the older women he knew, Mrs. Petrowski didn't look either too fat or skinny as a rail. The medium sized breasts that pressed against her flowered dress hardly seemed to sag at all either. There were of course some soft lines on her face that showed her age, but an almost professional application of makeup lessened the effect, including deep red lipstick that matched the polish on her nails. face and there was no doubt she was older, just different somehow.

"I was asking how your uncle was," Helen said, making Simon realized it was the second time she'd asked.

Taking a breath, Simon gave her the same answer he had given at the poker table. Helen listened, then gave him a look that seemed to say she didn't believe him.

"And here I thought he was avoiding me," Helen said, confirming his impression.

"Why would you think that?" Simon said, adding a forced laugh.

"Well, if he hasn't told you, I don't think I should either," Helen mused. "Just tell him that I'm still waiting for him to give me a call."

"Will do," Simon said as he turned to walk away.

But before he took a single step, Simon turned back around. Mrs. Petrowski had also turned to leave, but the sound of her name brought her back as well.

"Did you want something else, young man?" she asked.

Simon paused for a long moment, having no idea what he was going to say next.

"No, I guess not," he began, causing the older woman to begin to turn away once more. "No, wait," he called out much too loud.

Helen now had an impatient look on her face, prompting Simon to say something, anything.

"Look, Mrs. Petrowski, my uncle did tell me what was going on between the two of you," he began.

"Did he now?" she asked.

"And it's not that he doesn't like you, he does believe me," Simon went on, "it's just that, well, it's just that he can't do what you want him to do."

"What is it that he can't do?" she asked.

The memory of his uncle's telling him to even use the truth flashed across Simon's mind. Then it was replaced with the idea that a tall tale would do just as well. At least one that wouldn't be as much of an embarrassment to Uncle Ryan.

"Well, you know that during the war my uncle was in the Navy, right," he said.

"Yes, as were many of the men we grew up with, the Army and Marines too," Helen observed.

"Well, a lot of those men were wounded, some even disabled," Simon added. "Some not always in ways that people could always see."

As soon as he had said those words, Simon wondered if he was going too far. Then he decided he wasn't. After all, his uncle actually was wounded in battle and had the Purple Heart to show for it. The scar from that wound just happened to be a few inches higher than he placed it now.

"I hope you understand," he finished, hoping she put all the pieces together and drew the conclusion he wanted her to.

"Oh that poor man," Helen said as she did indeed put one and one together and got three.

"I hope you understand that this is a very sensitive subject for my uncle and ..."

"Don't say another word about it," Helen insisted. "who could find anything bad to say about a man who sacrificed so much for his country."

"I'm glad you understand," Simon said, feeling pretty pleased with his ingenuity.

"And I have to say you show amazing sensitivity for a young man of your age, handling such a personal subject so well."

"Well, thank you."

"I actually have to say, it's almost a relief to know there is a very good reason why your uncle hasn't responded to my invitations," Helen went on, taking a turn that Simon hardly expected. "It was almost enough to make me think I was too old to interest a man anymore."

"I don't think you're that old," Simon said without thinking of what he was saying, other than it seemed the right response.

"Well, as I'm sure as your uncle confided in you, I was perhaps a little brazen in my invitations," Helen said, her voice dropping in volume as she moved closer to the young man. "I actually suggested an evening with me was, what is it you young people call it, a sure thing?"

"Something like that," Simon replied, thinking that it certainly applied to his former scout leader.

"Well, when a man turns down a sure thing, a woman had to worry, didn't she?"

"What did she just say?" Simon heard himself asking in his head.

"A young man like you wouldn't do such a thing would he?" she went on.

"Excuse me?"

"I said a young man like you wouldn't turn down a sure thing if it was offered to him, would he?"

Not for the first time since this conversation began, Simon had absolutely no idea how to respond.

"Oh I've embarrassed you, haven't I? Helen asked.

"No, I just, I just don't know."

"You don't know what?" Helen asked. "You don't know if what I just asked was a genuine question or just some old lady going on and on about nothing?"

The mute expression on his face said it was something like that. Along with the wish that he was somewhere else right now.

"And after all, I'm not just some lady on the street but someone who knows your family and probably runs into your mother now and then," she continued. "It wouldn't do to say something inappropriate because of some vague statements that you simply misconstrued would it?"

Without realizing he was doing it, Simon nodded his head yes.

"Well then, I guess the simplest thing to do would be to remove any ambiguity, wouldn't it?"

Again Simon considered the fact that he should be somewhere else, but try as he willed it to be, his feet didn't seem to want to move.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Simon?" Helen asked.

"No," he answered.

"But you do go out with girls, don't you," she added, "you're not one of those boys who like to hang out down in the Village are you?"

"No, not at all," he quickly replied, a mental image of the time they had visited Greenwich Village in Manhattan and the gay population they had seen there filling his head for a moment.

"Well then, have you ever been with a woman, intimately I mean?"

"No," Simon heard himself say, wondering why he simply hadn't said yes and ended whatever this was.

"Well, I'm sure a strapping young man like yourself would be eager to correct that condition, especially since he'd be starting college in the fall."

Of course the answer to that question was yes, Simon thought, what guy his age wasn't looking to pop his cherry as soon as possible. There had been nights when the guys had even joked about getting some money together and going to see a pro. But none of them really had the nerve to treat such a suggestion as anything other than a joke.

"So," Helen said, standing so close to the teenager that her breasts were only inches beneath his face, "if a young man were presented with a sure thing, even with a woman somewhat older than he was, one that wasn't into the silly games girls his own age play, what would a young man do?"

Helen pause a moment than said, "What would you do?"

"I'm not sure," came his reply.

"You're not sure," Helen repeated.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped away from Simon. She had gone a few steps, then turned and walked back to him.

"Well I'll tell you what," Helen smiled, "Since they're using the center for the Teen Bicentennial Dance tomorrow, I really don't have any plans for the evening. If between now and then, you do decide what you would do, why don't you stop by my house and we can discuss it."