The Right Kind of Girl

The phone made John Wolfe jump. He had been concentrating too intensely on Murder By Numbers: A Detective Purcells Mystery. There was little else to do on a Friday night. He had few friends, and being a college freshman had been a difficult transition for him. So, on Fridays, after dinner, he would retreat to his room to read, enjoy a Pink Floyd album, and a Sunshine Farms pecan pie from the gas station across the street.
The phone rang again. It didn’t ring that often, unless it was his boss wanting him to work. He hoped whomever was calling had dialed a wrong number, and would realize their mistake.
“Hello.” John said into the phone.
“Hey, Johnny, what’s going on tonight,” the voice on the other end asked.
“Hey, Billy.”
Billy Smith lived down the hall. “Say, you got any plans tonight?”
John shook his head, forgetting he couldn’t be seen. “No, I was just reading, mostly.”
“Johnny, it’s Friday. Hey, I heard about this great place called the Harbour Pub. I was thinking we could go out and maybe have a few pitchers of beer. They got a bunch of new microbrews in town,” Billy said.
John sighed. “I don’t know. I was…”
Billy cut in, so John couldn’t finish verbalizing his excuse. “Johnny, you’re reading. Come on. I heard about this Pub from the girls upstairs, and I think, maybe, Ronda will be there tonight.”
John turned a bright red. Everyone knew he liked Ronda, but he was too shy to talk to her. She was a loud girl with flaming red hair and a comment to everything anyone said. She wasn’t a beauty queen, by any means, but to John, she was the most beautiful girl he had had ever seen.
“Umm, I don’t know.”
“Johnny, I’ll be there in two minutes, so be ready. I promise, you’ll have a great time.”
“You’re really pushy.” John put down his book, and hung up the phone. “Why does this always happen to me?” he asked the picture on the cover of his book. Detective Purcells stood with his gun in one hand and his badge in the other. No one ever pushed Detective Prucells around; that was for damn sure.

John heard loud music coming from the Harbour Pub before he saw it. Neon beer lights hung in the windows advertising local microbrews like Snake Pee and Tricycle Beer. They were blurred slightly by the rain spattered on the window and between the windows was a heavy oaken door. He followed Billy inside.
The place was crowded. Several patrons played pool or darts, and the band played old rock tunes like “Bettie Lou’s Got A New Pair of Shoes” and “Crocodile Rock.” At least they played decent music at the Harbour Pub.
Small crowds of people sat in the booths and around the tables. Waitresses traversed the crowd delivering their drinks and flirting with the male patrons for tips. Most them were from the nearby college.

After waiting for a few minutes, Billy and John got a table away from the bar. The waitress had left a pitcher of beer so black it looked like chewy tar in front of Billy, and she had brought John a tequila.
“So, what’d ya think of Johnson’s lecture yesterday?” John asked. School was all he could think of to talk about. “That test was a joke. Don’t ya think?”
Billy yelled back at him over the music. The band started a lousy rendition of “November Rain.” It might have been better if Pat Boone had sung it.
“Johnny, we’re here to have fun. Classes are not what’s on my mind tonight,” he smiled. “I wanna catch me a hottie.”
John frowned. “Oh, sorry.”
Just then, the large form of Ronda walked by with her head of fire red hair. As always, she transfixed John.
Billy looked over at her. It failed him. Ronda was just another bitter, fat girl that hated men, and didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. What did Johnny see in her?
“Hey, there’s your woman. Go, get her, Johnny.”
Billy’s tone dripped condescension. He hated Ronda.

John sat alone looking into his drink. Billy had left, nearly an hour before, with a girl that looked anorexic, as if there were sheets of paper were thicker than that girl. The music had gotten better, as long as the band stayed away from “November Rain.”
Some people just had to ruin a classic, he thought.
“You’re John,” a strange voice asked from behind him.
John turned around to see Ronda standing in front of him with a large pitcher that looked much more appealing than the sludge Billy had been drinking. He nodded.
“Ya mind if I sit down?”
He almost dropped his drink. She was a little drunk, but not so much that she was as annoying as drunken people usually get, he thought.
She sat, almost uncomfortably, close to him. “So, how’s things?”
John tried to speak, but was at a loss for words, as always.
She laughed. “Billy said you were a bit shy.”
“Umm, okay. What about you?”
She leaned in closer to him, and he could smell the sour odor of beer on her breath. “About the same.”
Most of the girls he had ever gone out with had decided he was too infatuated with writing his stories, or reading cheesy detective novels, so John couldn’t help but feel awkward. Her presence was a little overpowering, because he was not used to having girls sit so close, let alone pay attention to him. He tried to smile, but could only manage a sheepish grin. She flashed him with a toothy smile that made his insides feel gooey.
He couldn’t figure out what to say next. He looked at the ice in his glass. “Umm, I probably should get going,” he said. “I have a test on Monday, and a paper to write.”
It was almost true, even though it was just a small quiz for his film class, and a story he had already had finished for a writing class.
“Well, umm, we live in the same building, maybe you’d be willing to walk me home,” Her voice was playful.
He frowned, but nodded.

It was a cool evening in Bellingham. John and Ronda walked down Seaview Avenue. One night at dinner, as she had passed by him, and he had thought about what it would be like walking home with her. It seemed weird that it was actually happening, or was he at dinner?
Daydreaming? His palms were moist in his pockets, and his knees felt like they might collapse if the wind blew at him.
“It’s really cold tonight,” she said.
“Yup.” He was still unable to figure out what to say.
Her hand snaked around through his elbow. “Well, ya know, maybe we could keep each other warm until we get home.”
John jerked his hands out of his pockets, and his words seemed to come, at last. “Um…Ronda, I am not very good at this kind of thing. I don’t know what-“
“John, don’t worry. Billy had you come to the Harbour Pub tonight…well, John, I notice you a lot reading or walking along, and to be honest, I have always thought you were kinda cute in a quiet sorta way, ya know.”
She took a step closer to him. “Don’t worry. I’ll make this simple for you.”
Her arms found their way around his abdomen. He stared into her eyes that were lit by the pale light of the streetlight. John froze. She stared into his eyes, as a moment of tense silence passed between them. His mind pulled him into different directions. He wanted to back away from her, and run home to the safety of his room and books. He also wanted to know what would happen if he ventured closer to her, and as he thought about it, it just seemed to happen. Their faces got closer, very slowly, and he noticed her close her eyes. His lips touched hers gently. The familiar taste of Carmex filled his mouth as her tongue touched his. He wrapped his arms her, and his heart leaped at the feeling of her breasts pressed against his chest. The wind blew her hair in wild directions around their heads.
Raindrops started falling as if they were coming from a stratospheric dripping faucet. She pulled away from him. “We should probably get home. It’s going to rain cats and dogs out here.”
He didn’t say anything.
She grabbed his hand.

“I got a towel,” he said.
She smiled as they stood facing each other hand in hand. “That sounds nice.”
He fumbled with his key but managed to open the door.
“Wow, you got a lot of books,” she said marveling at massive bookshelves with books.
On the walls, were posters of a tall, nice-looking man with a badge and gun. Across the top one read, “Murder In The First: Book 9 of the Detective Purcells Mysteries.”
“Detective Purcells?”
John smiled, and closed the door, and got a towel for Ronda to dry off the rainwater. “I like those books. They’re kinda cheesy, but they’re fun.”
“I read one a few years ago,” she said drying her hair. “Kinda predictable, don’t ya think?”
John shrugged. “I don’t know.”’
She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him gingerly. “Things that are unpredictable can be a lot more fun.”
He missed what she meant.
“I don’t know. I like knowing what will happen” John said.
Ronda took a step back. “Is that a fact?”
She started unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a black lace brassiere. She unsnapped the clasp between her breasts, and pulled it away. “Knowing what will happen isn’t much fun, John.”
John acted on instinct as he slowly worked away the rest of what she was wearing. Her hands were soft and warm on his back.

Sunlight woke John. He turned on his side, but his arm didn’t find Ronda. His vision adjusted to the light streaming in from outside. He looked over to where she had been when they had fallen asleep. On the pillow next to him was the stem of a long rose.
The tip was as black as sin.
Leaning against it was a small card with elegant gothic lettering. “Johnny, I had a wonderful night with you, but I forgot to tell you something. I have AIDS.”