Who Kissed Charlie Fine?

Chapter 7 (Part One)

It was a typically hot, yet unusually dry, evening for late July. The lack of humidity was welcome as warm winds ushered Charlie and Martin down a path of tidy dogwoods towards the clubhouse of the Capital Golf Course, an expansive multi-decked building of white and grey stone exterior with a newly renovated copper roof extending to the porte-cochère of the main entrance. Charlie wore a dark green suit of breathable linen with a grey poplin shirt and black tie. Martin had pulled out his best navy suit jacket to wear with black denim. This he paired with a white shirt, opting to go tie-less in order to leave top buttons open.

Charlie had hoped the reunion would be held at his old high school, but former classmate Eric Saxon, whose family owned the lion's share of The Capital, and Seven Minutes suspect Opal Green, who was the club's events director, had combined their influence with the reunion and anniversary planning committees to win hosting rights to both celebrations. Passing through the swanky lounge of rich bronze and rosewood decor, Charlie accepted he would likely be the only guest disappointed with the venue.

It was a popular spot on a Saturday night. The club's restaurant was at capacity and unknown members heading in pairs and groups to the buzzing bar seemed curious as to what was going on in the ballroom.  Picking up a name tags from a check-in run by former classmates he vaguely remembered, Charlie and Guest entered the double doors to Banquet Room A ready to find out.

It was nearly nine o'clock and the sun was only just setting. The boys were happy to have arrived in time to see how the curved sliding glass back wall of the ballroom opened for guests to access the deck and rolling velvet greens of the course's eighteenth and, more remotely, eighth holes. Charlie surveyed the attendees from the entrance platform above the sunken dance floor. He was excited, the momentum of cause surging through him ankles to shoulders. He'd earned this night and regardless of its outcome, answers or none, his life could only be bettered for the attempt to learn what he could from it. A feeling of invincibility came over him, just for a moment, but long enough to make him feel like a T-Rex overlooking a field of shorter legged herbivores ripe for the plucking. Then he spotted Sweet Jean Peterson, the tenderest of them all, and made up his mind to start with her.

"We look like a couple of weirdos just standing here," Martin said, interrupting Charlie's mental blueprint.

"This way," Charlie said, stepping down to the floor.

Jean Peterson, or Sweet Jean P, as everyone called her, was still as naturally pretty as ever. The sunshine-coloured curls of her hair bounced this way and that as she sipped a drink and bobbed to the music. She was constantly swivelling at hellos and arm touches from people happy to see her, but just as happy to move along quickly to other classmates. Her crimson lips smiled with enthusiastic affection as gasp after gasp she recognized former classmates. Charlie was only a few feet away when she saw him. Her mouth hung open before the familiar doll-like voice screamed, "Whaaaaat???" She jumped up and down excitedly and a couple who had stopped to talk to her took advantage of her distraction and moved along. Jean rushed up to Charlie, arms wide, her girlish yellow summer dress dotted with spots from her splashed drink.

"Char-erar-lieeeee!" she squealed in a vocal loop-de-loop. "Oh my God! It's so nice to see you! Holy moly, look at you!" She held out one of his hands and let her eyes assess him top to bottom. "Charlie," she pouted adorably, "you're, like, a man now."

"I've been eating a lot of cabbage."

"Oh you!" she said slapping at him playfully, a giggly screech ending with a dainty snort. "You're teasing me because you think I say that to everyone but I don't. I swear I don't! Especially Gary Downs. He's Trisha now.  She's Trisha now. I'm sort of confused which pronoun to use. Someone said 'they' but that sounds like there's a bunch of them, and  believe me, there's only one Trisha Downs!" She made the OK sign with her fingers and tried to wolf whistle, but it fell short as something wet and windy.  "I really wish I'd asked what they preferred – see that doesn't sound right. I want to go back and ask her what lipstick's she's wearing but I don't want to insult her. Yeah, 'her'. That sounds better, I think. Well, whatever! We're all just doing our best. Everybody deserves to be happy, right Charlie? Are you happy?"