Looking for it - circa 1985

Looking for it - circa 1985  

 

 It is early evening, a Friday, I’m getting ready to go out (read - looking for a girlfriend). I’m 45 years old, single (read – divorced) and father of two girls - Brett, 15 and Ashley, 13. I’m in the basement of my house, a pair of pants draped on my arm. Moments ago, before the full-length mirror, I spied crow’s feet wrinkles at the top of each pant leg. So I hustled to the basement and got out the ironing board.  After a few presses the phone rings upstairs. I scale the five steps in two jumps. “Hello,” I say.

"Dad!”

“Yes.” I say. It’s daughter Brett.

              "Dad - OK can you pick up Cindy and Robin?”

              "Yeah no problem, what time,” I say

             “Leave in three minutes,” she says.

            “I’ll go as fast as I can, but not three minutes. I'm ironing here.”

The kids are always rushing and every minute counts. Were we like that? Of course not. We took our time - walked everywhere. Isn’t that the claim? Anyway, three minutes - is she serious? Nevertheless, I agree to step on it.

The cat meows at my feet. “Look, Socks, you want food right? You see what that is?” I point to the dry food dish. Socks continues to circle my ankle, meowing with each half-turn, indifferent to the food. “And do me a favor, use the litter box tonight, not the kitchen rug, got it?” I don’t think Socks gets it. I return to ironing, but after one leg I go back upstairs and dial Ash (youngest daughter).

“D, is Ash there?” I say. 

“Hold on," she says.

D is the first wife - ex. She has a boyfriend.

Wherever she’s headed tonight it will not be, as I - looking for it. Such thoughts pass through my mind as I wait for Ash.

Ash comes to the phone. “Ash, where are you sleeping tonight? Sleep at my house, we’ll go for breakfast in the morning.”

“OK, maybe.”

“OK, anyway, I’ll leave the lights on and the key under the mat. OK?”

Back to the pants. The doorbell rings. I step into the almost pressed pants and pull them up, smoothing the left over crow’s feet with my hands. I shout up the stairs, “It’s open!” 

It’s Dennis, a friend, my partner in crime this evening. 

Looking for it, as we mockingly call our Friday night activity, can take any number of forms for the man or woman on the cusp of middle age in 1985. The two main forms are bars and singles events. Bars are a bit less humiliating because one can pretend to be in the bar, NOT looking for it, but just for a drink. At a singles event, our choice tonight, it’s a given that you are unattached and looking, which is humiliation-number-one. Not – mind you - the fact that you’re alone at age forty, nor that it logically follows that every relationship you’ve ever had has flopped somehow – period! But it's this: mere membership in this muster of singulars announces that very fact, by default, the moment you enter. “Hi my name is Ed, I’m single. All relationships I’ve ever had have failed.”

We, Dennis and I, have done this particular singles event for the past two years on most Fridays- which is Humiliation – two: ‘You haven’t met anyone yet?’ In other words: “Hi my name is Ed, I’m single, all relationships I’ve ever had have failed, I’ve been coming here for two years, but haven’t met anyone.”     

It wasn’t always this way of course. Want to know who I really am? I’ll go with the words of an acquaintance of my mom’s, an elderly gentleman (80ish), who when introduced to me extended his hand and blurted out, “You know I was quite a baseball player when I was a young man.” That’s me – not the loser single man but quite a baseball player when young. It’s a fact I usually manage to get across to prospective girlfriends somehow, albeit later in the game.

Dennis enters and immediately assumes the mock-the-singles-lifestyle-tone, “Hey we got to hurry up, we’ll get locked out.”

“No way – remember we’re on the Coffee Crew.”

The New Expectations Single Adult Rap Group (ditch the Rap would be my preference, it’s so 1970s) takes in about 200 people every Friday, but well over that number show up and wait in line outside (Humiliation – three) until doors open at 8:00 PM. The tail end of the line always gets shut out (humiliation – three-plus). Those rejected pivot back to their cars with dropped shoulders convinced they would have met their soul mate tonight. To avoid this shut out Dennis and I got the bright idea to sign up for the Coffee Crew, which sets up the pre-event coffee and cookies. Instead of arriving at 7:00 PM and getting into the Humiliation–three-line we show up at 7:45 and budge to the front saying excuse me, knock on the door and are immediately escorted inside. This is Humiliation – Four for me, but Dennis says he likes it.

“I still have to pick up the kids,” I tell Dennis.

“Oh no!” he says, “You’re done for.”

“I’ll make it, but we better take two cars.”

“Of course - you know the rule: cool guys, looking for it, need their own car,” Dennis chuckles.

 “Yeah, duh, you never know when something might turn up,” I mock.

“Yeah, but - remember the other rule: It’s only when you’re not looking for it that you find it,” I say, then continue, “Guess that means we’re not going to find it, because we’re definitely looking for it.” I go upstairs to finishing dressing.  The truth is I have chosen my Friday night outfit earlier in the week. I actually tested out the look on Monday, in the mirror, and then took the shirt and sweater to the cleaners on Tuesday, and picked them up today. I should have taken the pants, obviously.

Dennis shouts up the stairs, “We’re always looking for it.”

“But we never find it - ha ha."

“OK,” I say coming down the stairs, “anyway - you see my keys anywhere?”

“Where’d you put them?” Dennis says. Just then the phone rings.

“That’s Brett,” I say, “I’m not answering, she just wants to know if I left yet.”

“I’ll answer it, I’ll tell her you left.”

“Yeah. OK, I know they’re here because I drove the car here,” I say.

“Hello, your dad left,” Dennis says, unconvincingly.

“Dennis!” Brett screams into the phone, “I can’t believe he hasn’t left.”

“He’s looking for his keys.”

I start talking to God, “OK, enough, where are they.”

Brett on the phone with Dennis says, “He’ll never find them, if I was there I’d find them in a minute.”

She’s right. I slowly pace in circles, trying to think.  I look under the newspaper on the table, fling a sweater off the couch. Not there. I look in the fridge.

“He’s looking in the refrigerator now,” Dennis says laughing. “What the hell are you looking in the fridge for?”

“Don’t ask. I’ll tell you later,” I say, “Ah, my coat pocket. Where’s my coat. They’ve got to be there.”   

“Still looking,” I hear Dennis say, and then he says, “Yeah, I know,” offering sympathy to Brett.

“Ah ha, got ’em,” I announce, triumphant. “OK, we’re leaving right now.”

“Got that Brett? … OK goodbye, have fun tonight.”  Dennis hangs up.

“Ready? Let’s go. We'll take both cars. See you up there,” I say getting into my car. Dennis drives away and I head for Robin’s house, toot twice in her driveway. Robin bounces out the front door.

“Hey, how you doing?” I say.

“Fine,” she says climbing in.

“So what are you girls doing tonight?”

“We don’t know, really” she says. 

“You like the music?” I ask Robin. I know that when Brett gets in the car this music will be switched, but the girls that are not my daughters are courteous enough not to complain, much less start pushing the radio buttons. I’ve got the 1940’s and 1950’s station on but it’s the Easy Listening 40’s and 50’s. The kids call it elevator music, which is not a compliment. “Good music huh?” I say.  Robin giggles. Is she really in pain I wonder? Brett and Ash say it’s painful. Jo Stafford is singing “You Belong to Me.” I love that song. They must at least think it’s nice I imagine, as we head for Cindy’s house.

Cindy gets in the back with Robin. “Hello,” I say.

“Hello.”

“So what are you guys doing?” I ask again, not really caring if they answer. I assume that they are going to someone’s house and that eventually as the news travels the male counterparts will appear outside, mingling around. Somehow the boys will get noticed and sooner or later they’ll all be either inside or outside, depending on the parental presence and a variety of other variables. The good thing is that everyone is either fourteen or fifteen - no cars as yet. It’s foot travel or parental chauffer only.

“We don’t know what we’re doing,” Cindy says.

“You like this music?” I ask. It’s the Four Lads now, “No Not  Much”, another personal favorite. They’ve got to love this I think.

“It’s OK,” Cindy says, meaning no. Robin is quiet, having already answered the question.

I pull into Brett’s driveway and she is out the door before the car stops.

“Dad!” she says, climbing into the front seat.

“Yes, I know, I’m three hundred million hours late. Hey wait a minute, I liked that song,” I say as Brett changes the station. "Plus Cindy and Robin liked it, didn’t you girls?” My protest is ignored. Cindy and Robin offer a faint giggle, but no comment. Brett is furiously pressing buttons on the radio. 

"Anyway, do you have an appointment somewhere, at a specific time maybe, somewhere you have to be by an exact time?” I ask. No such thing, I’m sure.

“Don’t worry about it Dad. Does anyone know what we’re doing tonight?  Dad, why are you going so slow?” Brett asks, all in one breath. I continue at the same speed. One thing I still rule is the car speed.

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Robin says.

Cindy adds, “Me neither.”

“Where to next?” I ask.

“Stephanie’s  ... go Dad,” Brett says, urging me to speed up.

“Relax B, we’ll get there. Anyway, your hair looks good.” B just had her hair cut.

“Oh God!” she says and takes out a comb.

Stephanie and Darcy are next and that’s all, apparently. After Darcy I start down the road again.  I anticipate further instructions.

“Wait, does anybody know what we’re doing tonight?” Cindy asks.

Suddenly all hell breaks loose - high pitched screaming. I quake in my seat. 

Everyone is shouting, “Turn it up, turn it UP!”

The truth is I like this song too. I let the music seep in as my car rolls slowly on. I don’t know if it’s the radio music or the sweet soft sound of the five girls catching every word, and then the excitement when they hit the chorus. I wanna know what love is …but the joy reaches into my chest on this long stretch of street called Cathedral Avenue until eventually the frenzy subsides slowly, as  the song ends.

“Dad, where are you going?” Brett says.

“What? Melanie’s, no?” I say.

"We still have to get Laura and Debbie.” 

"OK, anyway - I'm just saying - I haven't got all night. You know I'm doing something tonight also."

"Like what?" Brett says.

"Looking for it," I blurt out trying to be funny.

This brings a chorus of giggles, which is a little like - humiliation - five.