A Week In the Life of Bob Roth--Part 2

There was no practice after school because of the game.  It was a home game, name withheld by request.  After school, Bob went home to get some things and then back to school.  I was not allowed in the field house so do not look to me for what happened there.  All I know is that we won.  After the game, everyone stormed the field.  Then the players went to get dressed and I walked over to the Roth’s.  They were talking with the Captone’s and the Salinger’s.  Barbara came up, not in her flag girl uniform, but in a skirt.  She had her hair up and her makeup done.  I asked how she did it so quick and she told me she had used the girl’s locker room to get ready.  Another tip to use.

Bob came up, dressed in a suit and tie, naturally.  Mr. Roth shook his head.

“Do you believe this?  Seventeen and he out dresses me.”

That caused a round of laughter and Bob told his parents that he would meet them There.  Where There was I did not know (notice how I don’t know a lot).  Bob and Barbara walked to the car, and I followed behind them.  I guess Barbara still was not happy with me, for she treated me like something she might have found on her shoe.  Bob held the door open for us and I climbed into the back, while she sat in front. 

“Don’t start, please,” implored Bob, as he shut the door, kissing her.

She turned to him when he slid behind the wheel.

“Should I be happy, Bob?  Is this a See thing, a Saa thing, or an Ess.”

Bob shook his head and took two more pills from the bottle, which was almost empty.  It had been fill when I saw it this morning.

“What is that?”

“Aspirin.”

“Don’t lie.  What is that?”

He pulled out of the parking lot and looked in the rearview at me.

“Aspirin.”

She gave him a hard look but didn’t say anything.  Silence prevailed as we drove on, only the sound of the stereo was heard.  Barbara looked out the window, occasionally singing along with the songs--it was the Soft Rock station, so lots of slow songs were played.  Bob drove on, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

We got There and Bob parked.  “There” turned out to be a restaurant called the Lettermen Club.  Now I know where everyone went after the games--here.  Almost every coach, player, parent, and quite a few teachers were there.  Bob I guess had a standing reservation for they sat him at a booth in the corner.  I earned a raised eyebrow.

“Mr. Bob, Miss. Barbara, how are you today?” asked the waiter.

“We’re fine, Louis.  Do you know what you want?” This to Barbara.

She looked straight at him.

“I know exactly what I want.”

“Give us a few, and bring me a glass of wine, please.”

“Now, Bob, you know the rules.”

“Okay.  Coffee.”

We all ordered our drinks and then Bob ordered for us all.  That is he asked what we wanted, then told Louis.  I noticed my menu had no pricing.  I almost laughed.  I had heard about places like this, how chauvinistic.  But then, it was a club for athletes.

Before the food arrived, Bob excused himself and went to talk to his parents, sitting across the room with Betsy and Ken and a few more people.  A well dressed woman came up with a distinguished looking man. 

“Barbie, who is this?”

“Hi, mom.  This is Kim Hower.  She’s a…reporter.  She’s doing a story on Bob.”

“Hi, Kim,” said the woman, holding out her hand, “I’m Dotty Belco.”

I shook it and then the man offered his hand and I nearly had a stroke when he said:

“Kim Hower?  Where do I know that name, Hower?  In any case, it’ll come to me.  How are you doing?  Harry Dange.”

OH MY GOD, my dad’s boss.  Moreover, the richest man in the county and one of the wealthiest in the state. I tried to be as sophisticated as possible as I shook his hand and told him my dad worked for him.

Someone else came up and shook his hand, and then Bob came back and was greeted like a son.  A couple of players came over.  Also to visit came Lydia Dange, with Richard Freed.  Mike it seemed had a date with Amy.  Then to top it off, Derek Painter came up.  He was my mom’s boss and probably the second richest man around.

Now, I do not consider myself a snob.  Nor do I like to think above my station, but I was almost embarrassed by my families’ occupations.

“Now, Kim.  I never forget a name,” Harry Dange again.  “Do I know you from somewhere?”

I swallowed and told him my dad worked on his factory floor, so he might have seen me at a company outing and also that my mom was a shipping clerk for Painter Pharmacticles.  Mr. Dange and the rest of the adults were nice.  Then they left and I was left with the rich people of OHS.  RED LINE!!!, because Bob considers these people his friends.  But have you ever had the feeling you did not belong?  Oh, nothing overt, just remarks.  And Barbara, upset with me in any case, was no better.  Bob just sipped his drink and popped two more pills.  After what seemed like an eon, the food arrived and everyone left to go to their seats.  Bob looked at his date and shook his head.

“TTFW,” he told her, in a sort of shorthand.  “I’m sorry, Kim.”

I shook it off.  For the moment, anyway.

All things considered, the food was great.  It was an awkward dinner, though.  Bob tried to keep up conversation with both of us, which made Barbara even more irate.  But irate towards me, not him.  He got looks which would have melted steel.  The tension was so sharp; I could have cut it with my steak knife, that’s what I ate, by the way.  Bob had the same, but with shrimp.  Barbara had a grilled chicken Caesar salad.  When the dessert cart went by, I asked for some key lime pie.  Bob turned it down, as did she.  They watched me eat my pie.  I felt like I was on display.  Barbara was about to say something, probably about my steak dinner with baked potato with the works and then pie, but Bob stopped her with a shake of the head.  More silent language.  I swear, they talked without saying a word.  Just looks and gestures and the like. 

After, his parents came over and more spinning went on as Barbara tried to be bright and happy.  Bob did the same.  I felt as if his parents knew something was not right, but they did not say anything.  Betsy asked if she could speak with me for a moment, and I went with her and Ken.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Kim, I know these people.  I hang around them.  What happened?”

I told her, including the part about Barbara not being real happy with me.  She sighed.
“This is above and beyond.  If you want out, you can come with us.  We’re going out to the club.”

I told her, no.  I was going to stick to my guns and be a reporter.  After all, you take the good, you take the bad.  Ken spoke up.  Now, I have never actually talked with him, so this was a shocker.

“Kim, trust me.  Barbie will eat you alive.  Get out now.  You’ll make an enemy of her, and, pardon my French, but you’ll get him PO’d.  You don’t want in the middle.”

I said I did not think it was going to be that bad.  Betsy hugged me and told me to call her and gave me the number to where she would be. 

“If it gets really bad, Kim.  Promise?”

I did and as his parents left the table I walked back.  Betsy wagged a finger at her brother.

“Be good.  Both of you.”

Then she and Ken left.

The check came very soon after and we made our escape, after being stopped like every other table to talk.  It was like being a movie star.  I could not imagine such popularity.  Now, I am not unpopular, I’m just not popular to the nth.  It hit me that I was with a power couple--maybe THE power couple.

Anyway, back in the car and more love songs and silence.  “Babe” by Styx came on and that sort of broke the ice, so to say. 

“Bobby, pull over.”

Bobby?  I was to find out that the folk who called him that were very few and far between--and those that did, only used it on certain occasions ( I also would not recommend, under any circumstances, to go up to him and call him that just out of the blue.  Trust me on this).  He looked at her and did, at a closed service station.  It was very dark. 

“I’m sorry.  I don’t want you mad.”

“It took you two hours to figure that out?”

“Bobby, please,” and she scooted closer, “don’t be mad.”

Then she kissed him.

“Not that easy, Babs.”

She pulled away slightly.  “Then I’ll try harder.”

The rest of the ride home was spent with her trying harder.  Let’s leave it at that.

We got to the Belco home and pulled into the circular drive.  Bob got out and helped Barbara out of the car.  Then he got me out as well.  I never really thought much of him as a gentleman, but that is how he acted all night.  Standing when I or Barbara left the table, holding chairs and doors, ordering…very adult behavior. 

The Belco’s live in what is called a split-level home.  From the entrance you can go up or down.  We went up into the living room.  There I sat on a chair while they sat on the couch.  I turned on the TV, but the lights stayed off.

It was right before Star Trek that I started to get real uncomfortable.  Barbara’s “harder” had worked.  I almost wished I had called Betsy.  Word to the wise, never go on a date with him without a partner.  Trust me on this.  About the first set of commercials, Barbara looked at me, then Bob and said something I will not repeat.  Then she grabbed him by the hand and led him out of the room.

I watched Star Trek, which I hate.  Then came on Mahogany, with Diana Ross.  It was toward the end of the movie that they made reappearance.

“I believe you have something you wanted to say,” he told her.

“Sorry, Kim.  I acted out of line and unladylike and I’m sorry.”

I told her it was alright, if I was on a date and wanted to be alone with someone, I would probably act the same way.  She shrugged and turned back to Bob.

We made our way to the door.  I exited and then she stopped him.  I continued onward and let myself into the car.  Bob came over and handed me the keys so I could warm up the car and went back to his date.  The song “Gypsy” by Fleetwood Mac  came on and by the time it was over, he was back.

“I take it everything’s alright?” I asked.

He took a couple of more pills, cursing at the bottle when he found he had the last two.  He put the car in drive without saying anything.

“Mark owes me big time.”
         
Once at his house, he took a quick shower (like his 4th one), and went to bed.  I did likewise, one more day and one more date.  I did not look forward to it.

DAY SEVEN - SATURDAY

THIS day began with the continuation of Bob’s bad mood from the day before.  I was raining again, so him not running had something to do with it.  I decided that this was going to be “Teen Beat” day and ask questions that everyone wanted me to ask.  I actually had a list of questions that I had acquired from asking around school.  It’s not for nothing that Bob won this interview.  I waited till he came upstairs and took his shower.  When I saw he had finished and had some clothes on, I went for it. 

I stood at the bathroom door watching him get ready.  The morning workouts really left him with killer abs and stomach.  I took a couple of deep, composing breaths and asked if I could ask a few questions.  He consented, but said he had to go to work, so make it quick. 

(The following Q & A session took place while he was getting dressed and ready, over breakfast, and in the car on the way to his job--at DM, of course.)

“What is your full name?” I began, at the top of my list.

“Robert William.”

“I know you were born in Charleston, SC, but when?”

“July 17th.”

“Vital stats?’

“Blond hair, blue eyes.  6 feet tall, 165 pounds.”

“Favorite song?”

“Tough call.  Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, probably.  I love the melody.”

“Song that best describes you?”

“That’s easy.  Everyone Wants You, by Billy Squire.  The story of my life.”

“Why is black your favorite color?”

“Long story, not for anyone to know.”

“Why?”

“No, next question.”

“Qualities in a girl?”

“Lets see, this is pretty known.  I like tall, leggy blondes.  Height and weight
proportionate.  Not too shallow, not dumb.”

“That’s honest.”

“What should I say.  ‘Oh, I look for a sparkling personality.’  What a load of crap.  The first thing I notice is her legs.  Then the eyes, then the rest of the face.  I’m not going to lie.”

“Would you date an overweight girl who has a pretty face?”

“No.  Yes, its shallow, but facts are facts.  Why would I?  I can get the type I like, no problem.  I do own mirrors, you know.”

“That does sound shallow.  And conceited.”

(This was one of the only places he took time to really think out an answer.)  “Yes, and no.  I have heard it too many times to count by too many people.  Do I play on it?  Sure, you can tell by the way I take care of myself, the way I dress, things like that.  I know girls find me attractive, it would be the height of stupidity to say otherwise.  But it’s a double-edged sword.  A lot of times I’ve actually…want to just put a bag on, or maybe have some scar tissue, or something.  Because you wonder whether people like you for you, or you for how you look.  Sometimes I really think about it.  Then I get depressed, and here is where this stops.”

“You date a lot of different girls…”

“Oh no, not who is your favorite?”

“No.  Would you ever settle down with just one?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe, perhaps.  I can’t answer that.”

“Have you ever been in love?”

(This was the longest pause in the conversation.  I timed it, it took a full 5 minutes to respond, and it seemed a struggle to answer.)  “Yes.”

“And…”

“This one goes to the one before.  Yes, I fell very hard one time and got very
hurt.  It took a long time to get over it.  In fact, I’m still not.  I’ll probably love her until I die.  But she did hurt me.  I get very despondent talking about this.  I have to be very drunk to even think about it, I won’t do it sober.  I  wouldn’t be able to work, hell, I won’t even be able to drive.  Just crawl into a hole somewhere…,“ he drifted off.  “Next question.”

“Does she know?”

“She’s dead,” a very painful pause.  “Next question, or this ends here.”

“What do you want to do when you graduate?”

“Well, my plan is to go to Harvard to get a law degree.  I also want to take some
courses maybe at MIT and become an attorney specializing in DNA.  I have a feeling it is going to be a growing field.”

“DNA?”

“The study of the human genome.  What makes us tick, what we are made of.  Fascinating stuff.  I can combine my law degree with my love of science.”

“Favorite movie.”

“No real favorite.  I do like that Christmas movie, “It’s A Wonderful Life.  Also Caddyshack, but don‘t ask why for I really don‘t know why.”

“Favorite designer?”

“Easy.  Giorgio Armani.  I’m also partial to Ralph Lauren.”

“You always smell so good.  Aftershave?”

“Cologne?  Night Musk, by Coty.”

“Favorite place to shop?”

“Either Saks or L L Bean.”

“Favorite group?”

“Metallica.”

“Name one thing people would find most surprising about you, that I don’t know yet.”

“Hmm.  I placed in the top 5 percentile of the Westinghouse Talent Search.  I performed with the Boston Pops when I was 10, with the Young Peoples program.  My favorite composer is Chopin.  There’s a lot of things.”

“Dog or Cat person?”

“Dog.  Big dog, like Sassy.”

“Favorite car?”

“The black Ferrari sitting in the window of Smythe’s.  It’s mine.”
“PSAT scores.”

“Oh boy.  Betsy scored 1600, perfect.  She won National Merit.  I got 1490.”

“If you were stranded on a desert island, you would you want to be with and
what would you want?”

“Believe it or not, my piano.  As for who, I don’t know.  Hopefully it’s a her.”

“Here’s a personal one.  Do you find me attractive?”

“Yes, isn’t it obvious?  Do you actually think I would let anyone else on the paper follow me like this?  Think about it.  Why do you think we set rules.  Why do you think Don and I have this bet?”

“Next question.  And the last, unless I come up with any more of my own.  Favorite food?”

“French.  More specific, shrimp.”

By this time we had arrived at DM and Bob was set to go to work.

Bob got this courier job because of despotism, pure and simple.  The job didn’t exist until Mr. Roth decided his son needed a job and Henry Dange came up with a proper job for the son of a company VP.  Basically, he drives a company car around delivering things.  “I’m Harry’s own UPS.”

For this he gets paid a lot of money, my father would be majorly upset it he know exactly how much.  Bob works weekends, during the summer, holidays, and very rarely during the week.  He puts in a grand total of maybe 15 to 20 hours a week.  A job for someone who doesn’t need the money but gets paid good anyway.  Where was I when this luck was handed out?

In any case, we ran around town, into Orlando, LBV, Apopka, everywhere.  By 2:30 we were finished.  Bob had an appointment to get his hair cut at 3.

He parked the company car and, switching cars, we were off to the mall.  Palm Gardens was packed this day.  We made our way to Headlines and said hello to the receptionist.  She greeted us and said that Cyndi would be out in a moment.  We sat and this girl who was also sitting there struck up a rather flirtatious conversation with him.  If I had been his girlfriend, I would have been annoyed, as I was ignored. 

His name was called and I followed as he went back to get his hair washed, for the second time that day.  The owner of the salon was an alumni by the name of Cyndi Crimmons.  I recognized the name as being one of the first of the EpPhi Counselors.  It seemed she owned Headlines, a chain of 10 shops in the greater area.  I expressed surprise that the owner would still cut hair.  She laughed.

“Only certain hair, of only certain people.”

She toweled off his hair and led him to a chair and tied the bib around his neck and began combing and cutting.

“He has the best hair.”

“You just want to get your fingers into it,” Bob flirted.

“Very thick, very healthy.”

“This is my head we’re speaking of, right?”

“The top, at least is what I’m talking about, Bob.  I don’t know about you.”

“I’ll leave that be, darling.”

The cut went on like that, with the give and take bantering.  I have noticed something during the week-- Bob likes being flirted with.  Oh, he gives it his best, but he likes the return.  And since most members of the opposite sex wind up talking to him, there is plenty of opportunity.  He even flirts with Stormy.  Of course, Stormy told me that you could get a lot out of Bob by just doing that.

After he got his hair cut, he got a pedicure and manicure.  I have never known a man to do that.

“I think he has a foot fetish,” laughed Cyndi.

“So what explains the nails?”

Another laugh from the salon owner.  “Vanity, honey.  Plain vanity.”

The total tab for this time at the salon came to $75.00, plus a $10.00 tip: $25.00 for the pedicure, $15.00 for the manicure, and $35.00 for the hair.  I told him it was no wonder he had healthy hair, at that price.

“It’s not easy to look good, darling.  You have to work at it.  God gave me the basic gene pool, but it needs help.  You have to exercise, diet, take care of the feet, hands, hair, teeth.  Then you need to dress right, things like that.  I could go around all grungy and do what I do, but why would I?  Do you really think that anyone I go out with would even talk to me?  I can name some examples in the school who go through this.  If they only cleaned up a little, or went through a little fitness program…But they don‘t.  So what happens, happens.”

We went to the Food Pavilion to eat and he elaborated on the theme.

“Last year,“  he said through bites of sweet and sour shrimp, “my campaign
strategy for winning the SGA presidency was simple.  Mike ran on the same ticket, so he was able to tell our basic ideas and the like.  My speech, or routine, you could say, played on my reputation.  Part of that is the way I look.  I told you that physical attractiveness is a double-edged sword, right?  Well, I can use it to manipulate and get my way.  How do you think we got the swimming pool at the school?  I had to dress up and flirt with grandmothers. “

He ordered a second helping of the shrimp.

“Of course, it runs both ways.  I have been out with girls who are out with me just to see and be seen.  In some cases, I make an attractive escort, and I know this.  But I know who my friends are, and who wants to use me for their own ends.  And I do that too.  I use people for my advancement.  Some might say I did it with Chrissy, but I didn’t.  So what is the crime to try to look the best I possibly can?  If people call it vain or conceited, let them.  Most of them only care what’s on the surface.  Very few know what goes on underneath, as I’ve said.  People would be shocked to know half of it.”

With that he stood, took both our trays and dumped them.  He looked at his watch (a Rolex and it was a Christmas present. Another rumor laid to rest), and smiled.

“Time to shop.”

And for the next two and one half hours, that is what we did.  Bob wasn’t joking when he said he liked to shop.  In fact, I told him it went beyond that into the reign of compulsion.  For example, we stopped in Saks (his favorite store, remember?), and he bought a tie.  Well the tie led to a shirt, then since he had a shirt, he had to get a pair of pants to match, that led to a whole suit (tailored right there in the store.  The sales force seemed to know him very well).  Naturally the tie, suit, and shirt led to underwear.  Underwear led to socks, which led to shoes.  Shoes led to tie clips and cufflinks.  That led to another outfit, since Bob noticed a sweater that went with the pants, which led to another pair of pants and a shirt, and on and on.  In one shop and out another.  I was actually panting trying to keep up.  He was like someone obsessed.  The grand tally by the time we left?  $5,500.00. 

Now along the way we passed and ran into people we knew,  and  chatted.  But only for a moment and on into the next store.  And it was not cheap clothing--Ralph Lauren, Armani, Hugo Boss, Gucci, E Arucchi, Brooks Brothers, LL Bean--label mania. And the stores--Abercrombie and Fitch, Belk, Macy’s, Saks…all on a credit card, two actually.

“My parents are going to kill me,” he remarked as we got into the car. “But what a rush!”

Bob’s luck held when we got to the house, for his parents were out at a meeting of the Orlean Yacht Club.  No, they own three boats--a catamaran, a motorboat, and a ski boat--but no yacht.  Bob put all the clothing away without taking the tags off.  This went next to the other clothing with the tags still on.  I shook my head.

“Why spend that much money on something you don’t need and couldn’t use?”

“I don’t know.  Like I told you, I wish I did.  Our church loves to see my mom at bazaars for they know they are getting a lot of clothing.  I buy it for $500.00, they sell it for $50 to $100 bucks.  Prices still attached.”

“Have your parents ever really gotten mad at you?”

“Yeah.  I went and paid nearly $1,000 for a pair of hand fitted shoes.  My dad went ballistic.  I couldn’t return them, as they were specially fitted to me, but my god, I caught hell.  They took my charge cards and grounded me.  Then my dad made me do barnacles as punishment.”

“Barnacles?”

“Yeah.  Boats get barnacles stuck to them.  They don’t really want to come off.  So, I had to get out to the dock and debarnacle, you might say, all the boats.  It was not fun.  You see, my parents don’t hit us, or even yell a whole lot.  But they come up with creative punishments--like cleaning the dog pens, barnacling a boat, repair work, things like that.  Spend a day in 90° heat trying to scrape the side of a 25 foot sloop.  I learned a lesson about buying things that outrageous.”

“So your parents can afford this obsession?”

“Why do you think I work?  My dad pays the bills and I pay him back.  My credit cards are my allowance.  My whole check goes to them.  Plus, if things get too bad, I dip into the trust fund.”

“Trust fund?”

“My grandfather left it to us.  We have $250,000 in trust.  Plus we have our college funds, I thinks that’s up to over $100,000.  I get complete access to the money when I’m 21.  So any I use means less I get when I graduate and go on my own and try to get a job--you know, when I really need it.”

That said, he chose that evening’s outfit and went to take another shower.  Another obsession.  He takes at least three a day, more if he goes out or has a game.  That and the 15 minutes spent brushing his teeth, the half hour spent on his hair, and the untold time spent just choosing something to wear.  It sort of reminded me of that scene in the movie American Gigolo, where Richard Gere picks and chooses his outfits.  Same ritual, only longer.

By 7:30 he was ready and we were on our way to Lorraine Park to pick up his date for that evening--Kat Pines.

(The story of this date made for interesting debate.  I could of said red line from the opening to the closing.  But we worked on the wording a bit and did it.  Again, take with a grain of salt and never mind the outtakes.)

Kat lives in a nice house, but everyone he hangs with lives in a nice house.  Except me, who lives in a trailer, but, it’s a nice trailer.

Anyway, Bob got out of the car and I crawled into the backseat.  Kat kept him waiting about 5 minutes and then appeared and they walked to the car.  Bob opened the door and Kat got in and said hello to me.

Now, Kat’s attitude for the night was to treat me as if I was invisible, or maybe part of an imaginary double date.  It was not done with any maliciousness, as Barbara’s was, but pure selfish motive.  I was not going to ruin her date.  This established, we went on our way to Putt Putt. 

The game was fun.  I was more or less left putting on my own, while Kat got a lot of help she really didn’t need.  She won by a bit of cheating, every time Bob lined up a shot, she distracted him. For one hole, a par 5, Bob was going for an eagle.  He carefully lined up the putt, like the golf team captain he is, and was going to hit the ball, when Kat came up to him from behind, put her arms around his waist and started nibbling on his ear.  This was enough of a distraction to cause a double bogey.  On the last hole, she went up and tickled him in the sides.  He hit the ball in anyway and then grabbed her and carried her off the course,  locked to her lips.

After we put the putters up, we talked with some people I did not know.  It seems Putt Putt is a hangout for people from around the district.  Actually, I did know of two people--the infamous Harry Rase and the very preppy Muffy Blainton.  They were not together, but they were there.  Muffy was a snob, but she is the Deb of the County.  Harry was polite, but there was something there I didn’t trust.  Muffy flirted her voice off with Bob, but Kat didn’t seem to mind.

“Let her flirt.  He’s leaving with me.”

And we did soon after.  The next stop on our itinerary was Reds.  We were able to go to the front of the line.  Bob had a membership and it was ladies free until 10pm, so we got in for nothing.  Reds is Bob’s hangout.  He knew every person in the place.  I knew most of the patrons, but he knew the staff and the owners.

We walked down the staircase into the club proper and was immediately greeted by Mike.  After a little shouted conversation (Reds is LOUD), we went to find a seat.  Bob led the way to a secluded back booth, away in a corner.  I slid in, then Kat, then Bob.  A server came to take our order and Bob, after two plates of shrimp at the mall, said he wasn’t hungry.  Kat ordered a plate of potato skins.  I decided to eat some nachos.  The music was very loud, people kept stopping by, the food was lousy and my guess is that they didn’t notice at all.  They did dance some, not a lot.  I got the feeling people did not come to dance when they went here.  The music was good though and I was asked to dance a few times.

RED LINE!!! RED LINE!!!
(Yes, the whole experience was redlined by Bob.  Whole paragraphs, even.  So use your imaginations.)

After some time at Reds, we left and headed back to the car and to the Groves.  The Groves, for those interested in things Orlean, is sort of a lover’s lane.  It is part of a deserted orange grove, hence the name.  We drove down the road with just our parking lights on.  Cars were everywhere.  Bob drove to a spot near the lake on the property.  His spot.  He turned to look at me.

“In or out?”

I decided to stay in the car, with the radio.  They left the car and disappeared into the darkness.

REDLINE!!!

They returned, with Kat still glued to him.  Bob started the car up and drove away.

REDLINE!!!          

We got back to Kat’s house and the make-out session went on a few minutes longer.  Then Bob escorted Kat to her door and stayed a while to talk.  The porch light came on and they kissed goodnight then Kat went in.  Bob came back to the car with a sort of smile on his face.

“Better night?” I asked.

“Much better.”

REDLINE!!!
(The redline here is not for me.  Mark actually censored this part of our drive home.  No, rules were obeyed.  It had to do with something else.)

And he drove off with the same smile on his face.  We arrived back at his house around 1:45AM.  He had a 2AM deadline on the weekends, so he was under curfew.

Instead of going to bed though, he checked two days of messages.  I was drafted as secretary as I took down in shorthand all 17 messages.  Then, exhausted, he went to bed and dead on my feet, I went to mine.

LAST DAY - SUNDAY

SO it ended as it began--in church.  Bob had to teach Sunday School that morning, something I laughed about, given the previous week.

“Who needs church more than me?”

I had to admit that, so everyone got all dressed up and off we went.  Mrs. Roth asked if the outfit Bob wore was new, and he said it was.  She shook her head at him. 

Once at church, it was off to Bob’s class of preschoolers and the story of Job.  Then he dressed in his robes and off to the choir.  Then came the sermon and afterwards, Donny came up.

“So, still hanging in there?”

“Lets see, as of…five minutes ago the story ended.  She arrived at this time last Sunday, so it ends at the same time this Sunday.  And yes, I won.  Ask her.”

I admitted it.  Oh sure, he looked as if he wanted to make a move a few times, but held back.  Donny was skeptical but took my word for it and promised Bob his concert tickets.  I guessed his Uncle worked for the company that produced the big shows in Orlando. 

After the picnic that was held that day, I said goodbye and thanked his parents for their hospitality.  Mrs. Roth gave me a hug and said I was welcome over at anytime.  Mr. Roth said likewise, and he looked forward to reading my story.  This with a look at his son, who looked away.  Then Bob did his typical change of subject and we got into his dad’s car for the drive back to my house.  I had loaded my suitcases in the trunk that morning.  Mr. Roth told Bob to drive me home, they would catch a ride with the preacher and his wife, but for Bob to meet them at the Poiston home.  He agreed to this and off we drove.

Now, when we pulled up to my house in Cherry Gardens in a Mercedes sedan, my neighbors actually came out of their doors to stare.  Bob opened my door (I’m going to miss that) and then popped the trunk and got out my luggage. 

Once in the house, he and my parents made some small talk.  He hadn’t been in my house a lot, but after a week in his neighborhood, I found the trailer awfully small.  And to share a bedroom again with my sister, after having a huge room to myself, took some adjusting.

EPILOGUE

I returned to my normal life and normal classes.  I was surprised at how much I had picked up by attending his classes and watching his homework get done. 

People still come up to me in awe at what I did.  Some people pressed me for details.

Mark, Bob, and I met a week after I typed up the story and presented it.  Then out came the red pen (literally red) and the process of editing came.  We clashed over things to be in and things to be out.  I had a lot of tape and more than one steno notebook.  I know Gregg shorthand, so I was very precise in my dictation of conversations. 

All in all, it was an interesting experience.  I came away with a new perspective on Mr. Robert William Roth, the town of Orlean itself, and this school and its students. 

Oh, and never mind asking me for the “lost” tapes, they are safely tucked away in a vault somewhere.  Bye!