Jean - Hot and Crazy
Chapter 2: A Desperate Plea
In this chapter, I finally deliver the "Hot and Crazy" promised in the title. My inspiration comes from the nightmares that still wake me shaken years after Jean and I were young. After waking in a sweat, I spend wakeless hours reliving the terror. I hope that putting our story on paper will help me break the cycle of fear and regret.
If you don't like dark stories, I suggest you quit reading now. Perhaps it will help those who ignore my warning if I confess it's all a fantasy. However, my mother taught me not to lie. In any case, much of the story is hard to believe, and it will be safer for your mental health if you read it as fiction. I'll let you be the judge.
This story takes place in the summer of 1972 before cell phones, computers, or the internet.
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I was nervous walking across the street to The Palms so Jean could apologize for some ancient wrong she had committed in high school. I had no idea what my sweet girlfriend had done to offend her high school boyfriend, but it must have been severe enough for the hurt to last since graduation three years ago.
Jean and I were accompanied by my best friend, Jacob, another Physics graduate student named David, and David's girlfriend, Tiffany. None of us were a match for the burly construction workers we had seen enter the sleazy bar earlier. David was a bit larger than Jacob and me, but he was just as soft as the two of us and a good twenty pounds lighter than the smallest of the muscular men we had seen in the pa. Tiffany, dressed in red hot pants and a halter top, wasn't good for anything more than providing a distraction with her massive breasts.
If being outmuscled wasn't bad enough, we were pretty intoxicated from all the wine we'd drunk at dinner. The whole idea of confronting an old boyfriend seemed insane to me, but I couldn't let Jean go on her own. Hopefully, she would make her apology, and we could head back to my apartment to recover from too much pasta and wine.
It was a hot, humid night as we all strolled across the street to The Palms for their last two hours before closing. Jean kept a tight grip on Jacob's arm to prevent him from leaving. We were lucky to find a booth in the back, far from the bar. The Palms is a dark, trashy College Town bar. There are stools along a long wooden bar, and booths fill the rest of the joint. A jukebox provides music for couples who crowd the small, raised dance floor. The most distinctive feature of The Palms is the ceiling tiles that have been decorated with graffiti. I do not know how anyone reached the ceiling, but that was how The Palms was when I first went there.
Jean asked, "What does everyone want to drink?"
I had hit my limit, and everyone in our group seemed pretty buzzed. Jean laughed when we said we had had enough.
"I know just the thing. I'll be right back."
Jean went up to the bar and waved at the bartender. She quickly got his attention as she leaned over to talk to him. The bartender took his time chatting with her and barely looked away from her barely concealed breasts to pour drinks. The way they were laughing suggested that they were acquainted. Jean was a townie and had probably gone to school with him.
Jean was a pretty picture walking towards us, her hips swaying while she balanced a tray on her shoulder. I remember her telling me about working as a waitress while attending the University of Wisconsin. Jacob inhaled sharply when my girlfriend leaned over between us to set down the tray holding five shots of Jose Cuervo, a bowl of lemons, a saltshaker, five mugs, and a pitcher of draft beer. Jean took her time unloading the tray and pouring beer. Jean unintentionally treated Jacob and me to a lovely view of her dangling breasts, thanks to how loosely I had tied the straps on her shoulders.
"OK, everyone. I learned that when you hit your limit, a shot of tequila will get you going again. Just moisten your hand so some salt will stick to it. Lick the salt. Down the shot in one swallow, and suck on a lemon slice. You can follow the shot with a gulp of beer. Let the party begin."
I cocked an eye at Jean and said, "Seriously?"
"Come on, Steve, it'll grow hair on your chest. Here, watch me."
Jean did the shot and chugged half a mug of beer. "Come on, guys. The dance floor is calling."
I figured, what the hell? I copied Jean and was surprised I managed to down the shot without a problem. The lemon cut the sting of the potent tequila. The beer flowed easily down my throat. I have no idea why I started to feel better. I was ready to dance. I was prepared to drink more, and I was definitely ready to party.
While David and Tiffany were drinking their shots, Jean leaned over to Jacob and whispered in his ear while he stared at the side of her dress. When he got up, he headed to the jukebox and made several selections. Jacob was a big fan of The Rolling Stones for their fantastic dance music. Jean dragged the rest of us to join Jacob on the raised dance floor. The five of us danced to a string of songs. I was glad we were dancing as a group because while most of the bar was dimly lit, overhead spotlights illuminated the small dance floor. Everyone in the bar could see my awkward moves.
I did my best to ignore the construction workers at a table by the dance floor. I hadn't seen the biggest one of them in the parking lot and wondered if he was the Randy in Randy Construction. All of them had their gaze fixed on Jean.
After Jacob's selections had ended, Jean picked some of her favorites. Her first choice was Carly Simon's 'You're So Vain.' I danced with my friends as Carly Simon shredded some guy in her song. I love the tune, but I winced at the thought that maybe Jean's choice was aimed at me.
