CHAPTER 14
When I got back home to Chicago I thought I'd be lying awake nights missing Debbie and Shauna and worrying about why Nick shot Vito Siri, but I once I was back with my friends and busy playing baseball I didn't have too much time to think about the events in Calhoun. Not that I didn't have a dream or two about the two beautiful babes I'd left behind. I wrote Debbie a letter and she sent one back, SWAK, and I called Ricky once or twice, but nothing much was shaking. Dover was still in the hospital, all the rest of the Caretakers were out on bail, there hadn't been any progress on the Carol Palladino case, and the Davis's house had a For Sale sign in the front yard.
Vito Siri's funeral had been held across the river in Covington the day I left, and had been attended by a lot of big-wig politicians and businessmen. Loads of flowers and messages of condolence from all over. Big news story. Ricky said there'd been a rumor that Frank Sinatra was supposed to show, but he didn't make it. Nobody we knew was in attendance.
I was having a good season and hit four home runs in one week and my team went all the way to the World Series, which we lost by one game. And I had a new girl friend, this chick named Rhonda that I had been hot for since junior high. Her brother, who was a pitcher, was on my team and she came out with him to some of the games and took a liking to me when I smacked a home run that won a big game for him.
I double-dated with her and her brother, who had a car, once, but it was kind of awkward, having him there. My buddy Winston had his license, though, and I was able to spend some quality time with her eventually. She didn't give me any shit about being a "technical virgin" and we went at it hot and heavy in the back seat of Winston's parents' Ford station wagon or in the grass by a little pond in the park down the street from the high school.
I'd been practicing on my guitar like mad, and Winston, (his mother was from England and was real big on Churchill) the guy I had bought my guitar from, was pretty impressed when I whipped a little "Walk Don't Run" on him and we got a drummer and a bass player and worked up a few songs in his basement. I played rhythm on my acoustic and sang "Stagger Lee" and a couple of Chuck Berry songs. But I was really needing an electric guitar, so one evening when my Dad was in a good mood Winston came over after dinner and we played a few tunes for him. Rock'n'roll wasn't quite his favorite music, but I guess he was surprised that we could play at all and he said he'd buy me a new guitar, but only if I would agree to take lessons from this bald-headed guy down at the music store. That's the way my Dad was - everything by the book, the correct way. I thought I could learn everything I needed to know from Winston and my Chuck Berry records, but if it was the only way to get a guitar, what the hey? So we went down to the music store the next day and signed me up for lessons and I came home with a brand new sunburst Fender Stratocaster guitar and a Twin Reverb amplifier. I practiced until my fingers bled, and I didn't really mind going back every Friday afternoon for a lesson, even though my teacher was a classical guitarist and had me practicing scales and other boring rudimentary stuff. He even wanted me to sit a certain way in the chair when I played, with my foot up on a little stool. He'd probably flip out if he ever saw Winston and me doing our Chuck Berry duck walk.
We got an actual gig after school started, at a party at a girl's house. Her name was Kathy Kelsheimer, and she was a senior, a friend of Winston's older sister. We practiced all week for it, and had about fifteen good songs worked up, mostly Chuck Berry and Ventures stuff.
We figured we could always repeat a few if we used them all up.
The party was on a Saturday night and we showed up at Kathy's house wearing white shirts and skinny black ties, still trying to come up with a name for ourselves. We set up our amps and drums in a corner of her basement rec room, tuned up, and nervously started off with a couple of instrumentals; Winston and I were too scared to sing right off the bat. Most of the kids at the party were older than we were, but they got to liking us when we'd played a few songs, and we got a few compliments. After we all had a beer or two we loosened up and had pretty good time. I sang "Louie, Louie", which was my favorite song at the time, and played lead on "Walk Don't Run".
Everybody kept asking us what our name was, and Winston, who had a pretty weird sense of humor, finally announced over the microphone that our name was Fred. That brought a round of applause and a round of beers to the bandstand .We got five bucks apiece and all the beer we could drink, so our first gig was a big success.
Dad was going to take a couple days off from the office and drive me down, but a big contract came through the week before and he couldn't get away. So then they decided that Grandpa would come up and get me, but I persuaded them that I would be OK on a plane, that I wouldn't get sick or get off at the wrong airport or anything, and they finally agreed on that. Besides, Grandpa was getting old and he wasn't as good a driver as he used to be. Grandma never had driven a car. When she was a little girl back on the farm in Kentucky the first car anyone had ever seen in the county had backfired and scared her horse and it had thrown her and she had mistrusted automobiles ever since. She was always scared to death whenever she rode anywhere with anybody and was constantly telling them to slow down or turn here or watch out for that car or something. It drove Grandpa nuts sometimes, and he had been known to pull over at the next tavern for a cold one while she calmed down.
So Mom and Dad drove me down to O'Hare the afternoon before the trial and put me on a plane with strict orders to be careful and to behave myself and to call as soon a I got to G & G's. They had me all dressed up in my new slacks and white shirt and tie, for in those days people still dressed up when they flew, but I took the tie off once we were in the air.
I had a pretty good time on the flight. There was a knock-out of a stewardess named Kelly from Texas who had a sexy accent. I had always heard about girls from Texas having long legs, and she sure had 'em.
She told me what a hip place Houston was and I said maybe I could visit sometime and she said she was gone most of the time. I asked her if she wanted to go to a murder trial and she said she had to fly to California in the morning. She was recently divorced, she told me. She had been living in Nashville and her husband was a musician with some corn pone hillbilly singer and was gone on the road a lot. Ricky had told me stories about divorced girls, and I sure wanted to go out with one. Too bad she was leaving in the morning. Well, she must be older than she looked, anyway. I tried to act real cool, like I flew all the time, but she could probably tell it was my first flight.
Uncle Bill and Ricky met me at the airport. Grandpa hadn't driven around Cincinnati in years, since they'd built all the new freeways, and if he tried to come and get me we might have never seen him again.
Ricky's hair was a little longer, greased and combed to perfection, just like Nick's, and he had on this real cool white jeans outfit. And here I was, with this goofy haircut, short in the back and sides, wearing these real square threads.
Uncle Bill looked tanned and healthy, and he grinned and slapped me on the back and said it was good to see me again and then he made a snide comment about the Cubs, who had finished seventh that year.
"Hey, you gotta lotta room to talk," I said. "What about your Reds? Fifth place ain't exactly the World Series."
He laughed at that and put an arm around my shoulder.
"And what happened to Vada Pinson this year" I asked. Pinson was his favorite Red. "Only twenty two homers? Ha! Williams had twenty-five." Billy Williams was my favorite Cub. A power hitter, like I wanted to be.
"Ah, but Pinson led the league in hits. And triples," Bill said. I swear, Bill knew more stats than anybody. "Too bad about Mantle, " he muttered under his breath.
That hurt. Mickey Mantle was my all-time favorite, even if he wasn't a Cub. "Aawh, Mick was hurt this year," I said. He'd gone 3 for 15 in the World Series with only one homer, and the Dodgers had swept them in four games.
In the car going back to Calhoun I asked Ricky if he'd seen Shauna.
"No, man," he said, looking sad. "I've been meaning to tell you about her."
"What!?"
"She got pregnant and her parents sent her to Alabama to have the baby."
"Huh?!" I grabbed his arm.
"They say Bodiford, the cop, is the father," he said. shaking his head.
"No," I wailed. "You're lying!"
"Yes, I am," he said, grinning.
Shit, what a smart-ass. And I told him so.
"No, really, man, how's she doin'?" I said.
"See her in algebra every day. Still looks good."
"Still goin' with that guy?"
"I guess so."
"Seen Debbie?"
"Oh, yeah. She said to tell she can't wait to see you."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"How's she look?"
"Good. New hairdo."
"We wrote each other a coupla letters."
"'S'what she said."
"Still datin' Sherry?"
"Ha! Can't get rid of her."
It was dark when we got to G & G's. Uncle Bill and Ricky came in to visit for awhile. Grandpa had on his flannel shirt (appropriate for November) and was smoking his pipe and Grandma fluttered about, getting coffee for Bill and angel food cake with vanilla icing (my favorite) for Ricky and me.
I had to fill them in on what I was doing in school and how Dad and everybody were and tell them all about the flight. Neither one of them had ever been on an airplane. I think they thought my Dad was a little lax in his duties as a parent letting me fly in big bird in sky, but here I was, safe and sound, much to their relief. It struck me that even though they were a lot older than I was, I had done things they hadn't and I knew things they didn't. Like things we were learning in school. Math and science. Civil rights. Modern music. Neither Grandma nor Grandpa had had much schooling, and I doubted that they even knew what pi was or who Isaac Newton was. I didn't know much about Lawrence Welk or Roy Acuff, but I bet I knew more about them than they knew about Elvis or The Beach Boys. Of course, they knew a lot about life just from being alive for so long, but it sometimes seemed that the stuff they did know was more useful twenty years ago than it was 1963.
Ricky and I eased on out of the house and over to the rock in Debbie's yard while G & G were yakking with Bill about relatives and "arthuritis." The sun had set, and it was cool and dark. We hung around the rock for a few minutes and smoked a cigarette - nobody could see us in the darkness - and then Sherry and Debbie appeared. Debbie was really looking fine; her hair was cut short in the back and long and pointed on the sides. A Sassoon cut, she said. She was wearing a pink blouse with ruffles and a short red pleated skirt and Capezio shoes. She smelled awful good when I kissed her - I remembered that perfume from last summer - and chills went up my back when she touched me.
We talked about school and records and other important teenage stuff. Debbie and Sherry had been to see Lou Christie and they both thought he was the dreamiest thing in the world, but Ricky and I laughed at them and made fun of his falsetto singing.
"Two faces have I-I-I-I," Ricky screeched, laughing.
"He ain't no Dion, is he?" I giggled.
"Hell, no!"
"Oh, pooh on you, " Debbie huffed.
"Pooh on who?" Ricky asked.
"On YOU!"
"Pooh on you, on you, Pooh-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo," Ricky sang in falsetto to the tune of "Two Faces Have I," and I about collapsed laughing.
We finally got around to talking about the trial, after getting the girls about half mad at us.
"Tomorrow's the big day," Ricky said. "And here's the star witness." He pointed at me with a flourish.
"I don't know about that," I said.
"Ooo, I'd be scared," Sherry said.
"Of what?" Debbie said. "I think it would be neat."
"Well," Sherry said, "all those people... lawyers, and stuff."
"And reporters, cops, court stenographers recording your every word, bailiffs, other witnesses, television cameras," Ricky said slyly, trying to scare me.
"Television cameras?" I said. "They don't allow them in courtrooms."
"They'll be outside, though," Ricky said.
"Aahh," I said.
"And don't forget Ol' Man Davis. You'll have to testify with him lookin' at ya."
"Aahh." It wasn't a very comforting thought.
"And the judge is gonna have his eye on you," Ricky said, leering at me.
"Oh, shit," I said, exasperated. "He's gonna have his eye on everybody."
"Especially you, though. You look kinda suspicious, too clean-cut," Ricky cackled.
"He does not!" Debbie said. "Look suspicious, I mean."
Everybody had homework to do, even me; I had brought some books with me to make up for the missed school days, so we didn't stay out too long. Debbie kissed me on the cheek when we left and told me how nice it was to see me again so soon, much better than waiting until next summer.
I didn't sleep too well that night; I kept wondering why I was the only one who had to get up in court and testify when Ricky and the girls had seen stuff, too. Hell, if it hadn't been for Ricky dragging me off to Debbie's slumber party I wouldn't have seen anything. I dreamed about little Perry Masons running around the courtroom biting people on the ankles and crawling up the legs of the furniture. And the defense attorney, a sharp-nosed guy with a bow and arrow, got me so confused that I finally admitted that I had seen Shauna kill Reba with a meat cleaver.