My Redacted Life: Chapter 19 (Cont._2)

 The Redhead had agreed to ride in my new sports car. I was to wait. She disappeared up the stairs. I went to my apartment and brushed my teeth. I also brushed through my hair. It had grown since I separated from the Navy. Most people didn’t even suspect I had been a veteran, a good thing back in those days.

After the longest 20 minutes of my life, I went up to the apartment she shared with my neighbor’s sister. Speaking of whom, movement caught my eye from the parking lot and the two girls, returning from somewhere, had gotten out of their car, and were watching me. My neighbor gave me a “thumbs-up” sign. Her sister made a swooning motion like Rhett Butler sweeping Scarlett off her feet. I waved them away. They laughed and went to Rita’s apartment. I knocked on the door.

It opened, and there she stood, not smiling but not looking unhappy either. She wielded a sort of “Well what the hell are we waiting on?” look. She had tied the red hair into a bun. It had never dawned on me that someone wouldn’t want their long hair blowing wildly in a convertible. Yeah, I was that stupid.

I escorted her to the car, opened the door for her, and held her elbow while she slid in, no way that precious young thing could have made that maneuver unassisted. I pulled the safety belt across and helped her buckle it, being careful not to let a hand brush against anything. She gave me a sharp look anywat and said, “Thanks, I think I can manage from here.” I smiled a goofy look and went to my side of the car.

Being careful to make sure the Green Angel was in first gear, in order to impress the Red-haired Angel with my driving skills, I eased the car down the drive and turned on to Cantrell. So far so good.

Not far to the west, just past where the Burger Chef sat, a street veers off to the right and leads to Rebsamen Park Road. It leads along the river to one of the lock-and-dam facilities constructed during the 1960s. The willow trees along the road gave off a pleasant smell and I kept the car just below stalling speed so I could prolong my joy.

She looked consummately bored, moving only to touch her hair to make sure it was still securely fashioned. I finally said something trite, like, “I understand you teach school.”

“Secrets do get out, don’t they?” She said.

I raked my brain for something more stupid to say. Succeeded. “Have you ever ridden in a convertible before?”

This caused her to turn her head and I glanced at that perfect, oval face, framed by red hair, ruddy, like that of an Irish Princess watching the wild sea. The sight made my breath catch. “Once or twice,” she said.

It continued that way until we reached the parking lot by the lock and dam. I stopped the car, but left it running, not wanting to give the impression of stopping for improper reasons. “I went through that lock on an excursion boat,” I said. “It’s interesting.”

“I’ll bet,” she said, showing some interest for the first time.

“Doesn’t take as long as you think it would,” I said. “You tie up on one side, they let you down, or bring you up, whichever is proper, and you leave out the other side. They reverse the process coming back.”

“How do they pump the water in?”

“They don’t. The flow of the river does the job.”

“Hmm.”

My chance to impress: “I drove boats in the Navy,” I said. “Even coxswained for an admiral.”

“What does that mean?”

“I drove his official boat, called a ‘barge’ in the Navy.”

“Like that one?” She pointed to two long barges being pushed from the lock. “That’s impressive.”

“No,” I said, “It was just a 30-foot power boat. They call it ‘a barge’ though.” I remembered Rita telling me that she was “her daddy’s girl,” and that he was in World War Two. I decided to take a major risk. It could go either way back in those days. “Before that, I was in Vietnam, naval security.”

She turned toward me and looked. “Did you ever get shot?”

My Irish Princess?

“Uh, no,”

“My old boyfriend did. He was a Marine.”

I decided it was time to go back. I eased the Green Angel back onto Rebsamen Park Road, and soon we were flanked once more by the smell of the willows. My mind was racing, and I didn’t say much. The veteran thing didn’t turn out too well, but it didn’t turn out too badly. She didn’t call me a “baby killer.”

Easing back onto Cantrell, I increased the speed and kept trying to think. I was thinking so hard that I had to brake a little faster than normal at the entrance to the apartment, to wait for an oncoming car to pass. “To hell with it. It’s now or never,” I thought.

“Would you like to go out sometime?” I said. “On a date I mean.”

“Sure,” she said, “as long as you don’t kill us both first,” referring back to the fast braking.

Sweet success. But she was quite the feisty one.