France, Johnson, and Dick Curtis were friends throughout college and into the first decade of adulthood. Together the three of them did what many red blooded young men do while making their bones. They pursued an education, sought job opportunities, and looked for easy women to party with.
Initially the young men had aspirations to work in the film industry. They were all sharing a one bedroom apartment near city college and working whatever odd jobs could keep them afloat. On the weekends they drove out to the desert to film their movie: a semester project that never amounted to much more than a credit for the class.
France was by far the best looking of the trio. He was tall, blond, tan, and fit. A true “face man” with blue eyes, a quick smile, and a lot of glib talk. He could always find a beautiful rich woman to dangle on his arm. In that way, he never had to actually work at a job. He just looked pretty and expected the broad to pay for him.
Johnson was big, burly, hairy, and dark. He had curly black hair, an easy loving manner, a fondness for drinking, and a tender heart. He was always Kristie’s favorite because he took the time to purposefully acknowledge her. Even though he was usually drunk as a skunk, he bounced her on his knee, sang her funny songs, hugged and fawned over her like a favorite uncle would.
Dick Curtis was the clown of the group. He was very good looking, smart, talented, and glib; but he was short and bow-legged, so he usually got second or third choice depending on Johnson’s sobriety. Even though most of the available women were eyeing France, Dick Curtis would most likely be the first one to make a move.
Dick Curtis introduced himself and the boys to a group of potential dates. Right away a rich socialite glommed on to France with her intentions. She had just come off a lucrative divorce and was in the mood to play. Dick watched him take off in her powder blue convertible. That little bitch would keep France hooked up for months.
Johnson was sitting at the bar waiting for one of the servers to get off work. He liked women, but he would go home with a man too, if the mood suited him. This time it was an attractive older woman in her thirties. Dick sauntered up to him, “Hey,” he began, “This little redhead needs a ride home since her friend just left with France in that blue convertible. Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Johnson adjusted himself on the bar stool. “That little Beatnik cocktail waitress wants to ride me home too,” he smiled at Dick Curtis knowing full well the implications of his mis-spoken phrase. Johnson eyed the little Spitfire on Dick’s arm, “You have fun now!” He twinkled when he spoke. He was really soused. Dick doubted whether the cocktail waitress would feel the same way about her invitation in the morning. Dick saluted Johnson who returned the gesture.
On the way home, Dick began talking about philosophy and history and all the things he was learning in college. Spitfire had intended to go to college, but now she was divorced and had a baby to care for. She was back living at home in the Big House under the protection of her grandmother, mother, father, and two younger sisters. The family would not be so welcoming to a new boyfriend – especially one she had met at a cocktail bar while out with her wild socialite girlfriend.
Spitfire was hard on herself. She liked having sex. That’s what got her into this situation in the first place. She was determined to stop this time before things went too far.
Dick drove the full length of the driveway at Spitfire’s direction. He parked near the pepper trees at the end. When he saw the prominence of the Big House and the extensive landscaping, he set his sights. This little woman was who he needed to fulfill his ambitions. As a company man, he was determined to work his way to the top. This red headed Spitfire with the impressive social connections would help lift him to the status he aspired to.
“You don’t have to worry,” he said convincingly as he dropped his head in her lap, “I’m very good with my mouth.” They were married six months later much to the disapproval of Spitfire’s family.
France married the socialite, then divorced her, married a famous flamenco dancer and moved to Mexico. He lived into his eighties with a fondness for Sangria and the Mexican Riviera.
Nothing much worked out for Johnson. He worked as a house boy for a famous aging closeted actor until the actor died suddenly leaving Johnson to fend for himself. Johnson died shortly after due to complications from alcoholism. It should have been a premonition for Dick Curtis. He died a decade later from the same disease.
(First published 5/5/13)
