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July 1972
Mitchell Falls Community Center
8:39 PM
Patrick Michael Flynn anxiously checked his watch, only to be frustrated that the minute hand hardly seemed to have moved since the last time he'd looked. He then sought out the large wall clock on the opposite side of the center's ballroom, only to find that it showed the same time.
'Damn, is this night never going to end?' he asked himself.
The party around him, in which everyone else seemed to be having a good time, was being held in honor of his parents' silver wedding anniversary. From his perspective, it really didn't seem much different than any of the usual monthly parties the Community Center held, except for the fact that he couldn't blow it off as he normally did, at least as he had since he'd entered his teens. Given a choice, he'd much rather have gone with his friends to the multiplex to see the latest Planet of the Apes film.
As he looked out on the dance floor, most of the faces he saw were familiar, people he'd known pretty much his whole life. Which in some ways wasn't really a good thing, because many of them still viewed him as the kid he was and not the adult he'd grown into. Never mind that he'd passed his eighteenth birthday almost a year ago.
Brushing back his thick black hair, the length of which was a constant point of contention between his father and himself, Patrick began to make his way toward the exit at the far end of the hall. His mother had promised him that if he stuck it out until at least nine, he could take off after that. It was too late for the movie, but he could still catch up with his friends at the diner they usually went to afterwards.
As the song the revelers on the floor had been dancing to came to an end and another began, Patrick wondered if the D.J. hired for the evening had heard any song played on the radio in the last decade. Okay, it was a predominantly older crowd, but would it have killed him to play something by Three Dog Night or the Rolling Stones? Hell, after two hours of Mitch Miller and Lawence Welk, he'd have even settled for the Partridge Family.
Checking his watch again, Patrick saw he still had ten minutes to go, causing him to consider just saying the hell with it and slipping out the door. After all, he still had to change out of the suit and tie he was wearing into the more comfortable clothes he'd brought along with him for after the party. But, tempting as the thought was, he decided not to risk it. It was doubtful that his father, who was holding court on the other side of the room with his buddies, would even notice, but the way Patrick's luck had been going of late, someone would later mention what time they'd seen him leave and that would just lead to another argument.
Patrick's streak of bad luck had started last month when he'd broken up with Violet Bannon, who he'd been dating since the last days of high school. When they'd first started going out, Patrick had thought he'd hit the jackpot. A short haired blonde who more than filled out her school uniform, Violet was the girl nearly every guy in school dreamed about. They'd gone to prom together, but since they'd only been together a few weeks, it was understandable that they didn't participate in any of the more rambunctious after prom traditions.
It didn't take long, however, a month really, for Patrick to discover that he and Violet had very different ideas as to what was and wasn't acceptable, as far as physical interactions went, while dating. A month into their relationship, she agreed to go with him up to Miller's Point, which had been a popular make out spot since before their grandparents' days. But instead of a hoped-for hand job, Patrick had been presented with 'the rules.'
Kissing was okay, but no tongue until they'd been dating a while. They would have to have an understanding, whatever that meant, before she would let him place his hand under her blouse or between her legs. The same held through for him, so, again, there wasn't going to be any hand job that night. Actual sex was reserved for her wedding night, and she made it very clear that, even after that, oral sex was never something she would do. Just the thought of putting her mouth on a man's thing made her nauseous, she said, as did the idea of a man doing the same to her.
If Patrick had been a virgin, as Violet certainly was, it might have been easier to live within those rigid parameters. Unfortunately, he hadn't been one since he'd briefly dated Janet DeCorvo last winter. The fiery redhead's view of sex was the opposite of the more reserved blonde's, and she had dropped her panties by their third date. Still, Patrick was convinced that, given time, he would get Violet to toss out the rule book. Or at least he was until last month, when he finally decided that the prize wasn't worth the effort.
Patrick had just about made it to the door when he heard someone call out his name, in a voice that was a reflection of his own.
"Patrick," the voice cried out, "Patrick, hold up."
Patrick tried to act like he hadn't heard his brother, but a sudden crush of people between him and a door made it impossible to reach it before he caught up to him.
Sean Michael Flynn had been born twenty minutes before Patrick, making him the older brother, something that he never let Patrick forget. Fraternal rather than identical twins, they looked no more alike than any other set of brothers. Both stood five nine with slim but well developed builds, and weighed within a few pounds of each other. The major difference between the two siblings was that Sean had acceded to his father's wishes and kept his hair at what the old man considered a respectable length.
"I've been standing right here for the last half hour," Patrick said, even though that was technically a lie, "so you can't have been looking that hard."
"Yeah, well, Mom is looking for you," Sean said, a smirk on his face that he made no attempt to hide.
Patrick didn't have to be that close to his brother to know that he'd made liberal use of New York's changing the drinking age to eighteen last year. The drink in his hand was definitely not his first, as evidenced by the smell on his breath and the slight slurring of his words. Despite also being entitled to legally drink now, Patrick had been a bit more circumspect, restricting himself to just the champagne toast earlier in the party since he was planning to go out afterwards.
"Did she say what she wanted?" Patrick asked, concerned that it might be something that could prevent him from leaving as planned.
"Not a clue, little brother," Sean replied. "I just know that she wants to see you before you go."
Patrick had long ago learned that, whenever his brother stressed the minor difference in their ages, caution had to be his watchword. He had no doubt that Sean knew exactly why their mother wanted him, but was keeping him in the dark so as to give him less time to think of a way of getting out of whatever it was.
They quickly found their mother and, once Patrick approached her, he started off the conversation by reminding her of her promise that he could leave after nine.
"I know, that's why I wanted to catch you before you left," Mary Flynn said. "I need you to do something for me first."
Even as he told himself that he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear, Patrick glanced in the direction of his brother, who was standing off to his right. The grin on his face reaffirmed his belief that Sean knew exactly what their mother was about to say.
"Before you head off to wherever it was that you were planning to go, I need you to drive Kit McCormick home," Mary said. "She's not feeling well."
Patrick immediately noted that his mother had said 'need' rather than 'could you,' making it more of a command than a request. At such times, it was almost pointless to argue about it, not that he couldn't still try.
"Can't Sean do it?" Patrick asked, recalling, but not mentioning, that the woman his mother was talking about lived in the opposite direction from the diner.
"As I'm sure you've already noticed, your brother has had a few drinks, enough that I'm not comfortable with having him get behind the wheel of a car," his mother firmly stated in a tone that reinforced the idea that she considered the matter already settled. "So, to answer your question, no, he can't."
The obvious solution, at least to Patrick, was to let her take a cab then, but he knew that his mother was never going to go along with that. So, reluctantly, he asked where he might find her.
"She's back in the game room watching your grandfather play cards," Mary said, a small smile of victory on her face.
The game room, Patrick knew from previous visits to the center, was behind the kitchen pantry, an add on to the original building that had originally been intended for storage. Far from the festivities in the main room, it allowed players to concentrate on their game, whatever it might be at the time. Tonight it was poker.
As he made his way back there, Patrick considered that it could've been worse. It had been five years since Michael Flynn had introduced Kit McCormick to the rest of his family as his 'lady friend.' -- an anachronistic term that Patrick always found funny. Even funnier was his need to introduce her at all, seeing that both his children and grandchildren had known Kit all of their lives. In fact, the two seniors had been friends long before any of them had been born.
Kit McCormick or, as she had been at the time, Katherine Grace Henderson, had been the maid of honor at the wedding of Michael Flynn and Joyce Brody. Joyce had returned the favor when Katherine married Pete McCormick years later. In the decades since the four were nearly inseparable, until Pete died in '65 and Joyce followed him two years later. Given their history, it seemed natural for the remaining spouses to turn to each other for companionship.
As he stepped into the game room, Patrick saw that all three of the octagon shaped poker tables were in use; not everyone had come to the center to attend the party. He didn't have to even look for his grandfather to know which table he was at, as his gregarious laugh could be heard all the way across the room. Following the sound, Patrick found the seventy-two year old sitting at the head of the furthest table, a cigar in his mouth and several stacks of multi-colored chips in front of him.
Standing just behind him, looking over his shoulder at the cards in his hand, was Kit McCormick. There were no other women in attendance, as none of the other participants' wives or girlfriends held any interest in the game. Kit on the other hand, not only enjoyed watching, but playing as well. If it were any other crowd, she'd have pulled up a chair and asked to be dealt in. But that, she knew, would be a bad idea. It was bad enough, based on the smaller piles of chips in front of the other players, that Mike Flynn was cleaning their clocks, but to have a woman do it would add insult to injury.
Patrick waited until the hand was finished before announcing his presence, coughing just loud enough to get his grandfather's attention. The old man looked up from the pot he had just added to his winnings and smiled broadly when he spotted the young man.
"Honey, your ride is here," he said as he then glanced over his shoulder.
It didn't escape Patrick's notice that, with the game momentarily paused, half of the men at the table turned to look at her as well. With rich chestnut hair, cut shorter than Patrick's, Kit stood five foot six and weighed about a hundred and thirty pounds. She had a solid frame and small but well defined breasts that were visible in her low cut green dress. Compared to other women her age at the party, the seventy year old certainly stood out.
"You're letting this lovely lady go home alone?" Tim Conner, who was sitting to Michael's left, asked, a noticeable admiration in his voice.
Michael looked at Tim and smiled ever so slightly when he saw the envy in his eyes. He had no doubt that his friend still loved his wife, but it was an affection that had been born half a lifetime before, one long stripped of passion. Dorothy Conner was a good woman, but she more resembled the grandmother she now was than the adventurous girl she'd once been.
"Can't leave while you gentlemen still have chips on the table," Michael offered with a grin.
"That's my man," Kit laughed as, leaning downward, she kissed Michael on his cheek. "Do you want me to wait up?"
