Teddy Girls (Completed)

Part One: A Stolen Record

  November 1963. Tulsa, Oklahoma

     I Stood Outside Marilou's Pastry Shoppe in the Utica Square shopping center. My mom rarely let me go anywhere in Tulsa by myself, but I had convinced her that I would be fine. I was eighteen after all.

    One of Marilou's Apple Turnovers wasn't the real reason I was there. There was this girl. I know, it always starts with a girl.

     Every Saturday I would stand in the Utica Square Shopping Center and watch her drive past. I felt so stupid waiting for her like this because I knew virtually nothing about her: She didn't go to Edison Prep with me. I'd never talked to her. I'd just see her driving around Tulsa in a Harley Davidson Motorbike (with a tiny British Flag fluttering at the back of it). Luckily, I knew enough about motorbikes to recognize it as a 1954 model. I don't know how this information would help me besides writing about it in my journal at night.

She was always wearing strange clothes. Her style reminded me of the greasers that always stood outside of school. But she was different from those slick Elvis wannabes...Or maybe she wasn't. All in all, I think it fits to say that I had become intrigued by her.

I flipped open my pocket watch and glanced at the time. The pocketwatch itself had been my mother's, and her mother's, and her mother's mother. I let out an impatient sigh. It was 1:30 PM, and she was supposed to be riding down 21st street by now. I never knew where she was headed but I always assumed she went for lunch.

     What am I doing waiting for some girl I didn't even know? Eventually I sat deflated at an empty table outside of Marilou's until a waitress came out to tell me that the chairs were reserved for customers only.

     I ended up buying the apple turnover.

After about 15 minutes of eating, I smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in my skirt and started to walk south to the Utica Square Book And Record Shop. The November air chilled me as I walked. I scanned left to right and crossed the street. It seemed like Mystery Girl wouldn't be coming this Saturday.

•••

The door chimed when I walked through the threshold. A song was playing through a radio on the front desk. I recognized it as I Want To Hold Your Hand sang by the Beatles. I nodded 'Hello' to the woman at the register, and looked around the store.

The store was divided in two. The left side held records, and the right shelved books. At the back of the shop though, several magazines and posters were displayed on a wall. Turntables were on propped up at the front desk.

     I started walking down one of the record aisles. I wasn't looking for anything in particular until a noise drew my attention to the back of the store. A gaggle of teenage girls were squealing over some poster. And based on the fact that I heard various 'I love Paul' and 'I love John's, they were gushing over The Beatles.

     I shook my head as I approached. I had never actually bought a record of their's. I had only heard their number 1's on the radio.

     I studied at the boys' poster on the wall. They were wearing strange gray suits without collars, and their hair was abnormally long. It was practically in their eyes! They all looked so similar. How could anyone tell them apart?

A blonde haired Girl noticed my staring. "Oh, aren't they magnificent? I just adore little George. He's so cute! Which is your favorite?" She beamed, talking 100 miles an hour. I studied them and panicked a little. What was his name Jack? No no no. John! After I shared this with her she scrunched up her nose. "I mean, Johns nice and all but he's everybodies favorite." Well excuse me.

I sighed when she turned back to gush at her friends. If everyone is making such a commotion over them I might as well see what the fuss is about. I set off in search of a record.

•••

First I scanned the tubs marked with 'B-C' and found nothing. The teenage girls must've already picked it clean. I huffed and brushed a strand of brown hair out of my face. Love Me Tender started playing through the radio, and I heard the front door chime at the back of my mind. I didn't pay it any attention, though. I was on a mission. And I was set on a prize.

     I walked down another aisle where the records were sorted like books on shelves labeled 'Hot!'. I quickly scanned the artists. Beach boys. Bee-gees. Ah, Beatles! The side of the sleeve read: Please Please Me. Perfect.

I reached my hand up and started to slide it off the shelf, but I was met with some resistance. Someone was pulling at the other side. I wasn't about to let one of those teenage girls beat me out of my prize. I tightened my grip and pulled harder. It seemed like the other person had the same idea.

I lost my grip and my hand slipped off of the record. I stumbled forward into the shelf, and an array of vinyls spilled on to the floor. Who do they— I peered through the shelf and stopped in shock. It was Mystery Girl.

She looked angry.

I couldn't believe it. This sort of thing only happened in movies. How cliche. "What in God's name are you doing to my records!" A voice said. The old woman at the front desk had obviously heard our struggle. The girls at the back of the store whispered angrily in our direction. Probably calling me a clutz. Or worse.

"I want you out! Out!" The woman shouted. The wrinkles in her scrunched up face made her look like a mad bulldog. She started shoo-ing me away with her hands.

Mystery Girl huffed and stormed out through the front door—which chimed violently as she slammed it—taking Please Please Me without paying. Jerk! My mouth gaped open in disbelief.

"Hey! Y-you can't just..." I stuttered after her. The woman snatched me by my collar, and spun me around to face her.

"I hope you intend to pay for your friend." She snarled. The name 'Karen' glinted off of her name badge, and her breath smelled like fermented tobacco. I pushed her hand away from me. "She's not my—" I started.

Whatever. I needed to catch up to her. I dug two dollars out of my pocket, shoved them into Karen's hand, turned on a dime, and ran out the door to catch Mystery Girl. I'm going to get that record back.