Chapter 5
Huck and Steve Vying for Susie’s Attention
(In 2 Parts)
FIRST PART
The last thing that happened before we left Boulder was Max deciding to get off the bus to help Eloise with her election campaign (and catch up with us later), and Susie-the-waitress deciding to get on the bus (at least as far as Seattle to visit her daughter).
Susie was a great addition. Athletic-looking, tallish, a blond with hair tied back in a ponytail, Susie had twinkling eyes to go with a broad smile on a pretty face that belied her 66 years. Our roster was now more evenly balanced with four men and three women. The men more or less thought of themselves as single, so there was plenty of sparking to Susie’s enjoyment.
Huck fancied himself a “ladies’ man,” always trying to please any woman in sight. Huck had been a budding musician back home in his 20s and 30s and occasionally played back-up guitar for touring rock bands, but mostly made a living doing landscaping. When he heard about the trip, he thought it sounded like an excellent opportunity to meet a whole bunch of new lovelies. He had his acoustic guitar with him, which he used to impress Susie, changing the lyrics in Tommy Roe’s song to “Susie said she loved me, said she’s never leave me; true love will never die . . .”
Several of Huck’s connections in the music world were on our list of folks to visit. Huck had never married but most of us could recite the names of four or five of his past amours, all still in our friendship circle back home. On stage, in tight jeans, even with grey hair, he still had Mick Jagger moves: pelvis out, exaggerated licks, leaps and slides. Huck was constantly tapping his left foot and bobbing his head as if listening to a beat.
Steve was on the trip to get away from his wife for awhile, and with her blessings. She wanted time away from him as well, both of them knowing their marriage was tilting towards the rocks now that the kids were out of the house.
Steve was our lawyer (in case we needed one). Still looking the part even though two years retired, Steve had neatly parted silver hair, a trimmed mustache, short sideburns, and was in great shape. Always the first one up, he’d go jogging and then laze about drinking coffee in his running shorts, showing off his muscles. Maybe having heard so often about his good looks, he came across as a little too full of himself. Plus, he was always right, others usually wrong.
Riding across Montana into the Rockies on Interstate 90, under clear skies, Steve was engaging Susie with his best stories. “Next, you want to hear about my first kiss or my first law case?”
“Tell me both,” Susie answered, demonstrating genuine interest.
“Okay,” Steve said, standing up, showing his profile, “just imagine I’m in my best suit . . .”
“Nah, I’ve heard this one before. Sit down,” Huck interrupted.
“Don’t pay him any attention, Susie. Huck’s nothing but a failed musician,” Steve retorted, and without pausing kept going: “Last year of law school I was a certified student attorney. Si, yo hablo espanol, so when Fabio Melendez came into the Legal Services Office – I got the case.
“Fabio had bought a car at Fleasmor Brothers Used Cars. The Spanish-speaking salesman at Fleasmor’s told Fabio there was a 30-day warranty, ‘No va – lo devolviere, si.’ (Anything goes wrong, just bring it back) he told Fabio.
“Turns out the car was no good and he brought the car back. Fleasmor alleged they never got the car back – and even claimed they didn’t have a Spanish-speaking salesman!
“I’m all excited about doing my first jury trial. Me and Fabio show up, me in my finest Brooks Brothers suit, and the Judge bangs his gavel, ‘Next case, Fleasmor Motors vs. Melendez – let me see the lawyers in chambers.’ As we enter his chambers, even before he takes off his robe, the Judge slams the door and says, ‘What the FUCK is this case all about?’ I’m shocked at this kind of language – nobody in my family even said ‘fart’ – but manage to be the first one telling the story . . .
“. . . when the lawyer for Fleasmor interrupts me: ‘Now look young man! . . .’
“ ‘Don’t you young man me,’ I’m quick back with, ‘this is lawyer to lawyer! . . . ’
“The Judge goes, ‘Yeah, you tell ‘em! Now settle this god-damn case. If you never got your car back, tell your insurance company it was stolen – now get out of my courtroom!” And that was my first lesson in how imprecise justice can be – sometimes fair, oftentimes not.”
Barely taking a breath, Steve kept right on going, “Okay, let’s tell about first kisses. You remember yours, Susie?”
“Yeah I do, but I think I want to hear yours first,” Susie says with mock apprehension.
“Okay,” Steve says, moving closer to Susie, “My folks were prim and proper types. No swearing. No public displays of affection. Most I ever saw was the peck on the cheek when dad came home from work. Keep in mind I didn’t have any older sisters to teach me about kissing. Plus, we didn’t have a TV in the house and we weren’t allowed to go to the movies, ‘Too many kids peeing in their pants, and never any sunlight on those theatre seats,’ mom would say. So my kissing lessons were just plain non-existent . . .”
At this point Rocky jumps in, “Come on Steve, nobody wants to hear how bad a kisser you are, or were. Anybody want to play cards?”
But Steve keeps going, “Okay, I’ll shorten it up. The first time I kissed a girl was the summer after freshmen year in high school, and I was so bad at it, I gave up kissing the rest of high school – three friggin’ years before I ever kissed a woman again – that’s how freaked I was.”
“How did you do it?!” Susie asked, inching away from Steve.
“No, you tell me about your first kiss,” Steve says.
Susie looked around, saw that all of us were enjoying Steve’s story, so she said quietly to Steve, “I’ll tell you later,” and loud enough for the rest of us, “So how did all you guys get to know each other?”