The next night, I took a shower, swirling the shampoo around my hair counterclockwise fifty strokes. Then I rinsed for a count of one hundred. Then fifty more counterclockwise strokes and another rinse for a count of one hundred. I dried off and then pulled on the last remaining semi-clean clothes I owned and spent the next two hours on laundry. Smelling good was part of the Freddie Angel Deluxe Dating Package.
Mom watched me with a knowing smile.
“Do you have plans this evening?” she asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” I answered sunnily, flashing her a big smile.
“With a woman?”
“Yeah, Ma, a real woman actually agreed to go out with me,” I deadpanned.
“That’s not what I meant, silly boy,” she tried to explain and gave up quickly. “Where are you taking her?”
“Steak and Shake,” I answered, my mouth already watering, dreaming of the chili fries and steak burger I would consume before the night was over.
“You should put on some of your father’s cologne.” She walked into her bedroom and retrieved an ancient bottle of Stetson. She opened it and handed it to me. The strong scent rankled and nauseated my stomach.
“No, Ma, soap is where it’s at.” I pushed away her hand that held the offensive cologne. Stetson was the scent of fear and domination that permeated every moment of my childhood. I couldn’t stand it.
“Don’t you want to woo her?”
“I love you, Ma, but I’m pretty sure smelling like a seventy-year-old man isn’t going to be quite the panty dropper you think it is.”
“Oh, Freddie,” she admonished me. “You always love to say things to get my goat, don’t you?”
“I’ve gotten your goat so much, I’m pretty sure you own an Indian Restaurant.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled despite herself.
“She’s here,” I said, looking down at my phone.
“Have a great time, sweetheart. Remember to be a gentleman,” she advised as I hugged her and kissed her satiny soft cheek.
“Thanks, Ma.” I slipped out the backdoor, gulping in huge breaths of air to clear the scent of Stetson from my lungs. It was lodged so deep I could taste it. I spit onto the sidewalk that lined the side of the house where Cora couldn’t see, trying to clear it out. Then I took a little nip of peppermint schnapps that filled the flask in my coat pocket, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I turned the corner.
Smiling, I pulled open the groaning door of her ancient burgundy Buick. She kicked the empty burger wrappers on the floor to the side.
“Sorry!” she apologized. “It might look like I live in here because I do.” She snorted at her own joke, and I was instantly flooded with warmth. “Where to, Buckaroo?” she sang out with a smile.
“I was thinking Steak and Shake on 11th and Grande?” I offered with a wary smile, praying it was good enough.
“Perfect! A man after my own heart!” she gushed.
You’re right. I am after your heart.
She eased us down the pothole encrusted streets, the Buick a smooth, buttery ride. Then she turned on the radio and sang boldly off-key, the worst rendition of Enter Sandman I had ever heard in my entire life. Being in the “entertainment industry,” I have been fortunate enough to be exposed to many painful karaoke versions of Enter Sandman. It was so off-putting and pitchy, I practically heard packs of wild dogs howling in the vicinity.
“Terrible, right?” She winked at me with a grin that just melted me more.
“The worst,” I agreed, taking the opportunity to stare at her longer, knowing she was preoccupied with driving as my heart hammered in my chest. My fingers instinctively inched closer, waiting for the right moment to wrap around hers.
“Hey, you gotta be number one at something,” she threw back. I studied a silver snake piercing that hugged the top of her ear as she pulled us into a parking space, and then we headed to the door.
“Be a gentleman.”
I heard Ma’s voice in my ear and rushed in front of her to open the door, almost smacking her in the forehead with it. She ducked her head back with another giggle-snort to avoid the potential concussion.
“Dumb ass,” I heard a man say, and I ground down on my teeth.
Inside, Steak and Shake was hopping with only one beleaguered full-figured waitress in sight, running the entire front of the house. A baby was crying and patrons were shoveling spoonfuls of vegetable beef soup into their mouths. I was grateful for the noise to drown out the internal tug of war that was happening.
“Seat yourself!” she yelled over her shoulder at us as she sailed by with a platter laden with fries and burgers that made my mouth water.
I escorted Cora to the only booth left and tried to smile at her.
“Say something, dummy,” a man’s voice hissed deep in my ear. I feverishly scanned my brain for topics that would sound somewhat intelligent and came up empty. Thankfully, before it got too awkward, our waitress landed at the table and flopped down two enormous laminated menus.
“I’m Shelby, I’ll be taking care of you,” she said as she removed the pen from behind her ear and stood poised with her order pad. A minuscule diamond chip winked from its resting place on her ring finger. “Sorry for the wait. We are slammed today, and two waitresses called in sick, so you’re stuck with me.” She smiled a weary smile and pulled a grimace as she looked around. “Come to think of it, this entire restaurant is stuck with me.” Her sentence ended with a single abrupt, “Ha! You poor bastards,” she teased with a smirk that revealed one dimple in her cheek.
“Hi, Shelby,” I said, trying to put her at ease. “I’ll have a chocolate shake to start, extra whip. And for the lady?” I asked Cora, who licked her lips and nodded eagerly, an act that flushed blood to my face. Tongue-tied and taking a full second to recover, I finally added, “Make that two.”
“Easy enough,” she said and ran away.
“Man, Shelby has got her work cut out for her tonight,” Cora admitted, surveying the packed restaurant. The man at the table next to us raised his empty glass in the air and shook it impatiently. The ice rumbled as it slammed back and forth against the polystyrene glass.
“Who do you gotta bang to get a refill around here?” he shouted obnoxiously, making mothers with small children within earshot visibly cringe.
His question was ignored, which just made him shake it more violently.
Cora shook her head in disgust then stood. “Me. You gotta bang me,” she answered and strode to his table, yanking his glass out of his outstretched hand, then walked it behind the counter where the fountain drink machine sat. She pressed it against the Coke lever and waited as it filled, walked it over to the man, and plopped it down in front of him.
“There,” she shot at him. “Are you happy now?”
“But it was supposed to be rootbeer!” the man said angrily.
“It’s wet, isn’t it?” Cora asked. “Dude, you get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.” It was enough to shut him up, and she returned to our table triumphantly where she punctuated her victory with a small bow.
I laughed at her antics, adding a slow clap. “That was quite a show. You’ve got some balls.”
“Big ones,” she interjected.
“Is there any other kind worth having?” I asked.
Shelby came back to the table with our shakes. “Thanks for doing that. I’ve been running around here like a circus monkey on crack, but there’s only one of me and twenty of them.” She pulled out her pad again. “Are you ready to order?”
“Two steakburger deluxes with one order of fries and one order of…”
“Onion rings,” Cora finished for me. “So we can share.”
I grabbed my heart dramatically, getting a little emotional from her answer. “You complete me,” I said, making a cheesy heart shape with my thumb and fingers.
“Well, you had me at hello,” she answered with a wink and slurped on her shake.
“Tell me more,” I said as I blinked at her beguilingly, batting my pale eyelashes, tucking my chin into my shoulder. My ultra-feminine pose made her laugh—the deep throaty laugh I’d do nearly anything to hear. “I want to know everything there is to know about you.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you,” she admitted softly.
“You’re gonna have to give me more than that, darlin’,” I drawled, trying to deflect the intensity of my desire for a complete explanation. “I can’t tell if that is a good thing or a bad thing.”
“It’s a good thing,” she confirmed, and inside me one tight knot untangled and I could breathe more deeply.
Shelby practically skated around the dining room, taking care of customers, and the tables started to clear one by one. Our burgers arrived later than normal, but it didn’t matter. Sitting in a booth with Cora’s undivided attention was captivating. I would have willingly sat there starving for days.
“Sorry for the delay,” an exhausted Shelby finally said when she set the platters of burgers, fries, and onion rings in front of us.
“No worries, doll,” I assured her. “We’re not in a rush.” Her eyes were exhausted when they met mine. “You have to be worn out,” I commiserated with her. She surprised me by sitting down in the booth next to me.
“You know it! Geesh! My dogs are barking! This is the first time I have sat down all night.” She sighed with a smile and then a puzzled expression swept into her face. “You look really familiar.” She squinted her eyes at me and tilted her head, trying to pinpoint the reason for her deja vu.
I straightened, pretending to adjust a bow tie and preen myself. “Then you must spend a lot of time at the Kansas State Correctional Center.”
She chuckled. “Now I remember! You’re the Funologist!” she blurted, snapping her fingers. “Freddie… something.”
“Freddie Angel,” Cora finished for her in a sweet, slightly starstruck way that made me tingle with pride.
“Yes!” Shelby exclaimed. “I saw you a few weeks ago at the Punch Line. You were hilarious. Those bits about your mom? I almost peed.”
Occasionally, I would get a double glance from people when I was at Walmart buying eggs or running into the gas station. But this was the first time someone recognized me in public, and it humbled me.
“You know, Shelby, the pee-o-meter truly is the most accurate scientific method of comedic prowess,” I said with a smile and pressed my hand to my heart.
“Someday, when you’re a guest on Jimmy Bravo, I’ll get to say, ‘I knew him way back when.’”
Jimmy Bravo was the holy grail of late night. A pie-in-the-sky dream for any comedian if there ever was one. A true career launcher.
“You’re too kind,” I said as she left to go seat another group that had gathered in front of the hostess station.
“Look at you! I didn’t know I was having dinner with a celebrity.” Cora reached across the table to shove my shoulder.
A twinge of disappointment tightened in my chest. I didn’t realize until right then how much I wished she’d used the word date. I tried to play it off, scanning for a quick self-deprecating joke I could spit out to soften the silence, but came up empty.
A few painfully silent moments later, Shelby dropped off the leather pouch with our bill that came to twenty-seven dollars. I winked at the waitress and asked, “Let me guess. Just the tip?” and all the exhaustion wiped clean from her face as it lit up with a huge smile.
“You know it,” Shelby said.
I scooped it up, having to tear it away from Cora’s quick hands.
“Let me at least pay for half,” she begged.
“Your money is no good here, woman! I’m a recognized celebrity now. Paying for my entourage comes with the territory.”
“I’m in your entourage now?” she asked. “I thought I would have to prove my loyalty with more feats of physical agility and strength.”
A sting of pain stabbed my heart as I recalled the little boy in the garage holding the barbell above his head, and I worked to brush it away. “I’m going to make a man out of you,” Dad’s voice hissed, and I had to focus to push it to the back of my brain.
“Nah,” I said with a forced smile. “You’re in.”
She excused herself to go to the bathroom.
I signed the bill with a flourish, then pulled out the money clip and counted out ten beautiful Benjamins. The giddy thrill rushed up my throat as I wrote the hashtags on the bottom and took a photo for my own viewing pleasure, tucking the warm memory away for when the voices came calling.
“Look at the big man, throwing his money around like a big shot,” Dad hissed again, deep in my mind.
“Shut up,” I said out loud and pressed my hands to my ears, grateful for the distraction when Cora walked out of the bathroom and drove me home. I focused on her profile as she steered us down the streets. The desire built within me to feel the softness of her lips with the pad of my thumb, and I wanted to trace the planes of her pixie-like face with my fingers. She pulled up to the house, unfastened her seatbelt, and turned toward me. My stomach flipped and churned as a thrill shot up my torso.
The kiss.
This was usually the point where dates went horribly wrong for me. Where, in my awkwardness, I accidentally head-butted my date. Or when I went in for a smooch and she offered up her cheek, delivering me to my typical friend-zoned fate.
“I had a great time,” I started in, trying to fill the silence with words and feeling heat crawling up my neck and resting in my cheekbones. The sudden shyness made me freeze and dampened the words to almost a whisper.
“I did, too,” she said shyly as she leaned closer to me, waving me in like an airplane on the tarmac. It thawed me enough to meet her halfway, and even with my Steak and Shake onion ring breath, it was still the single best kiss of my entire life.