Four

 

Four

 

     E called me. I was at work, and I checked my voicemail. She tried to sound nonchalant, But I

 could hear a definite nervousness in her voice. I was delighted and called her after ten o clock

 like she said to.

     We talked about this and that. She was being very coy and vague about the simplest questions

 like what she did for work. She agreed to go out but wanted me to write her first. She lives down

 the Peninsula about twenty miles south, just past the airport.

     I wrote her. I don’t remember what I put. I think it was simple things like my job, hobbies,

 everyday stuff. She wrote back that she was seeing a guy in Long Beach and detailed her many

 recent travels. I didn’t really mind that she was seeing someone else because I barely knew her.

 She also wrote that she was a Gemini. I’ve never put too much credibility in astrology because it

 seems so frivolous, but I did pick-up one of those two-inch horoscope books that they have at

 the grocery store checkouts for about a dollar and read up on her supposed characteristics. And

 the weird thing was it was she a classic example of her sign, almost like she had been studying

 for the role.

     I rented a car for our first date because I don’t have one anymore. For the first time in my life,

 I am without car. I really don’t feel like an American to tell you the truth. I keep waiting for

 some group of men to kick in my door early in the morning and drag me off for some kind of

 questioning. Thank God I have a television. If I do get hauled in, I think that will help.

     I arrived at E’s house and was greeted by a note in the door jamb that instructed me to have a

 seat on the front porch and wait. She was running a little late. The note was written on the back

 of a business card. The card noted a woman with the same last name as E and I assumed that it

 belonged to her mom.

     Eventually E made her grand entrance, swooping onto the porch and saying something like

 she hoped I hadn’t been waiting long. We looked each other over. It had been a while since we

 had last seen one another. We approved. She wore a pair of blue-jean overalls and a simple

 white T shirt, and it showed her figure in a nice way.

     I drove into the city, and we ate dinner at an Italian restaurant in North Beach. The waiter

 complimented me on my shirt prompting E to inquire how she looked to the waiter, to which he

 replied “Marvelous.” We ate and talked quite easily and then headed out of the city over the Bay

 Bridge towards Oakland.

     We were going to see a musical somewhere in the hills of the East Bay. The directions she

 had were somewhat vague and it was truly miraculous that we found the place. But, after

 playing our hunches, backtracking, stopping, getting directions, and making many illegal

 maneuvers, we reached our destination. It was an outdoor amphitheater. We parked among the

 trees in a lower lot and joined the others as they headed up towards the box office. The majority

 of the people going to see the show were old white people who you could tell did not live in the

 city because of their clothes. They weren’t sharp looking. They were comfortable and faded. I

 think I was actually the only person wearing black.

     E got our tickets from will call and we went in, passing a table with some items to be raffled,

 that for the life of me I can’t recall. I’m sure they were homey suburban things like all-natural

 whole grain pasta makers or non-fluorocarboned hand operated vegetable slicers. Very

 Californian.

     The refreshment stand seemed like it was made by someone in the stage crew. It was wooden

 and quite simple like the items it offered for sale: Lemon Aid, wine, jellybeans, and non-oiled

 and unsalted hot air popped popcorn.

     We watched the show and E told me a friend of hers was one of the dancers.

     After the show E wanted to go backstage and see her friend. We stepped over a sign on a

 chain that read “Backstage Do Not Enter” and followed the cement steps down. We found the

 Black actors mingling and laughing, looking joyous and exhausted from their performance. We

 sat on a sofa next to one of the actresses who played a bar person and I struck up a conversation

 with her regarding her elaborate costume jewelry. She had yet to change into her street clothes

 and still had on her costume and stage make up. I don’t know how many of you have ever talked

 to someone after they have performed on stage, but the makeup that they have to wear is applied

 quite heavily. I guess it’s because they have to look perfect to people from far away.

     The Black actress I was talking to gave me several items of her costume jewelry to try on

 which I did. E didn’t approve and made it known to me by that certain look. I just turned away

 from her and continued with my fashion show, thanking the Black actress before E and I got up

 off the sofa and searched the rest of the backstage area for her friend. We found him in front of

 the main office of the theatre. E’s friend was talking with the Black man who was the lead in the

 play and they both gave us a hug when we said hello.

     We all chatted for a while about how good the show was, and they told us the problems with

 the stage and the problems with the other performers and eventually we said goodbye and made

 our way back to the rental car among the trees. I was dragging by this time and sat on the hood

 of the car and smoked a cigarette while E touched up her face.

     On the way down the winding back roads of the Oakland hills E said that perhaps I should

 slow down so I took both my hands off the wheel and asked her if she would like to drive. She

 grabbed onto the steering wheel and guided the car around several turns while I kept my foot on

 the accelerator. We were a team.

     After about a quarter mile of driving like this E asked me to take the wheel again. I did and

 she didn’t complain about my driving the rest of the way.

     As we got into her neck of the woods, she said we should have a drink at a bar in her town. It

 was about eleven o’ clock on a Sunday night and the bar was actually the only place we could

 go because everything else was closed.

     We went in and took a table next to the dart board and tried throwing darts. I couldn’t

 remember how to score them. After a few tosses we sat, and she asked if I wanted to thumb

 wrestle. She said she had many brothers and that she was pretty good at it. I still beat her two

 out of three tries. After my second victory she gave a girlish shriek and slapped my hand

 flashing her intense eyes at me in a playfully submissive way. My heart dropped. I wanted to

 kiss her. I didn’t. We just looked at each other smiling.

     I got us each a beer and we ended up talking about this and that when all of a sudden, she got

 defensive and demanded I justify my position on why I thought it was a good idea to let the Red

 people build gambling casinos on their land. To tell you the truth I didn’t even know what it was

 we were talking about because all I was doing was stealing looks at her chest and losing myself

 in her intense green eyes. But she was adamant that I justify the statement I had apparently made

 about the Red people. I said from what I knew about the subject it seemed like they had little if

 no means of income on the reservations and that the casinos would at least give them some

 opportunity to earn a living, to which she replied, what about the mafia and it wasn’t right that

 the taxpayers should pay for it.

     As we were leaving, she told me how in high school her boyfriends would drive these sleepy

 streets blasting their stereos while she would drive these sleepy streets blasting their stereos

 while she would lounge in the passenger seat with her legs out the window.

     On the short drive to her house, I turned on the radio, turned up the volume, and E dangled

 her legs out the window swinging her bare feet to the beat.

     I killed the music and stopped in front of her house asking her for a kiss. She said not on a

 first date and put on her shoes saying to call her in a couple of days.

     Just like that she was gone, and I was miserable.

     Once I got home and, in my room, I realized I really, really, felt bad. I felt weak. I felt almost

 dope sick like I was going through some sort of withdrawal. I sat on my bed and anticipated my

 call to her in a couple of days. I could hardly wait. I needed my fix.