September 5th finally arrived, as it does every year. The one difference was that there was a big party planned for the D & D Ranch in which graduates from two high school classes would be celebrating their 14th and 15th class reunions. D&D Ranch was a romantic little party venue nestled in the heart of a 100 acre parcel. Country Western in theme, there were little buildings spread about, reflecting western heritage. A wide area of lush green lawn grew under the shade of 8 very large fruitless mulberry trees. The trees were adorned with lights, adding to the festivities.
Early in the day, I’d accepted work assignments to cover a few added expenses involved with the reunion. A new outfit wasn’t cheap. I’d worked until 1 PM, before running across town to Macy’s to purchase a denim pencil skirt, cream colored blouse, colorful western scarf, and the reddest high heels I could find. All things considered, it was a miracle that those pieces were found in one short hour. After rushing home to get ready, I raced to Bestie Friend’s house. We’d be going to the party in her husband’s fancy schmansy Porsche. White and expensive. It wasn’t my style, but, I was just along for the ride and would go gracefully. BF take a picture of me in my new outfit, memorializing the moment. Maybe I would use it for my new business cards.
Simultaneously, on the other side of town, a pre-party bash was taking place at PA’s house. VST asked PA to photograph him. VST had gone through the unpleasant task of telling his new girl that she wasn’t invited to the reunion. This hadn’t gone well, with many angry words tossed about. PA and VST would go to the party without dates. What would be the point, otherwise? In that, they were in full agreement. PA’s white Porsche was washed and ready for the night. The parking lot would hold only two Porshe’s that night.
Reunion committee members created a beautiful and inviting atmosphere. There were lights in the trees, and cloth-cloaked tables set for dinner under them. Every detail was well thought out. As BF and I arrived, all I wanted to do was pick a table and sit down. Hot, bright red, new heels were causing flaming red blisters on my little toes. The futility of the evening played on in my head. By this time, I’d given up and smiled blankly as people I used to know walked by. BF chatted on about this person or that one.
It was then I saw him. VST. From across the yard, he stood, his image forever branded on my brain. He wore the palest blue Polo dress shirt, and very tight blue jeans. His belt, a favorite, had his name imprinted on the back, as cowboy belts often did in those days. He wore brown cowboy boots, and RayBan glasses. As he spoke to those around him, he worked the dimple from time to time. He could have graced the cover of GQ.
“Who’s the tall one?” I remember asking BF. She replied, and a memory of the boy in choir came rushing back. Gone was the chubby boy. Here was a very attractive man standing in the glow of the valley’s setting sun. Slowly, VST and PA started towards our table.
Fighting began immediately, as I was in some kind of mood. He sensed that and was in some kind of mood to mess with me. He insisted I was married to my ex-brother-in-law. I corrected him. He rattled on stating facts about all I’d been doing with my life. Uniformed and incorrect, I set him straight. Barbed arrows flew back and forth between us, leaving me focused on my blisters and longing for my dingy little house on the bad part of town. I could be reading or scrubbing the floor. It was going to be a very, very long night.
Chicken and rice was the standard for catered dinners. People at the table visited politely. VST and PA had joined us, and I could tell VST was enjoying any little dig he could send my way. I ignored him, smiling at anyone else but him. As the dishes were being cleared away, guests were encouraged to move into the open sided barn for dancing. Hearing this, and hoping to be one step closer to the BF’s Porshe and our get-away, I was first to snag a bale of hay.
This next point is still in contention, even in my own brain. Sadly, I have no one left to argue the point. I got to the bale first. If VST was here, he would interrupt and say that it was his bale. It was mine. I sat down watching everyone else enter. It was then that VST sat down right next to me, closer than close. He tried to make small talk, receiving the worst replies, of YES, NO, MAYBE, or I DON’T KNOW. My skirt, pincil-ey skinny and tight, was pinching in the worst way. My shoes. Dont’ even get me started. The long sleeved blouse was hot, stiff, and constricting. The scarf was choking me. I just wanted to go home.
With a bevy of beautiful and very hopeful cleavaged women surrounding our bale, VST did the most outrageous thing. He asked if I would like to dance with him. I found myself on my feet and following him to the center of the dance floor. I found myself in his arms, as a very sweet and slow dance played. Prior hostilities vanished and it felt like home should feel. Like I had been dancing with him my entire life, it was a moment that will last throughout my eternity.
He whispered that I had the bluest eyes. My mind snapped back to reality. I couldn’t just let it go. I’d get in one last word telling him he was full of bovine scat, not in terms quite that polite. He laughed deeply with sheer delight at my response and hugged me just a little tighter.
By song’s end, my world was rocked. Stunned, I didn’t know what to do or say. BF was signaling by the door that it was time to leave. VST asked if he might have my phone number. Having a business card in my skirt pocket, I shoved it his way, as I said Good Night, and rushed towards BF. We made our princess escape in one of two white Porsche’s in the parking lot that night. I was relieved. It was over and I had survived. Thank Goodness.
To Be Continued….