A Pre-Plum Short Story
by Anne
Chapter 1:
Stephanie's POV
"Sue Ann Grebeck told me in Geometry today that Bucky Seidler's having the biggest graduation party of the year on Saturday night. Everyone's gonna be there. Stephanie, we should go," Mary Lou insisted.
Mary Lou lives two blocks over from me and has been my best friend since birth. There's not much trouble the two of us haven't found in the last 16 years. She's been my partner in crime from the time we were four years old and locked ourselves in the bathroom and played beauty parlor, taking turns cutting each other's hair, to the time when we were ten and we let all the air out of my sister and Maureen Blum's bike tires when they wouldn't let us go to Uncle Mo's candy shop with them, to our more recent offense at sixteen of stealing her mom's cigarettes and smoking them while we walked home from school.
Rolling my eyes, I asked, "What does Sue Ann know?"
With a tone of practiced patience, Mary Lou answered, "Sue Ann knows everything about everyone. Nothing gets past her."
"That's true, I guess." You could always count on Sue Ann for the gossip. It wasn't always 100% accurate, but accuracy didn't count for much in high school. Speed, quantity, and outrageousness meant everything.
"Well, what'd'ya say? Let's hit Bucky's Saturday after graduation."
I took a drag from one of Mrs. Molnar's Kool cigarettes and tried to inhale. My lungs felt like they were on fire and I choked out a smoky cough. Mary Lou rolled her eyes at me and snatched the cigarette from my fingers. She took a long pull and inhaled like a pro.
When I recovered, I asked, "Why don't you just go, Mary Lou? I'm sure Bucky'd let you in since you're going steady with Lenny Stankovic." I barely concealed the jealousy in my voice. Not only can Mary Lou smoke better than me, she was the first one of us to go steady, too.
Mary Lou didn't even try to hide her huge goofy grin at the mention of her new boyfriend's name. "No way. I'm not going without you. You're my best friend and I'm not leaving you behind."
"But, I'll never get in. We're only sophomores." Just saying the word left a bad taste in my mouth. Until you were an upperclassman, you were nothing. Freshmen and sophomores were never invited to the cool parties. Senior boys would only pay attention to younger girls just long enough to find out if they'd have sex. If the answer was no, their attention span was dreadfully short. If the answer was yes, their attention span was longer by about 5 minutes, or the time it took them to get off.
Before Mary Lou could answer, we heard the low rumble of a hotrod engine racing down the street behind us. I hitched my backpack higher on my shoulder and turned around to get a look. A red Camaro with black racing stripes and a souped up engine was heading toward us. My heart rate quickened and my palms started sweating when I recognized the car.
"Oh my God, it's Joe Morelli," I gasped. Joe'd been on the fringes of my life over the last ten years, usually just outside of my boundaries, but occasionally wandering inside of them. Each breach left me feeling excited, sort of queasy, a little out of breath, and the teensiest bit scared. As a senior in high school, Joe Morelli had become somewhat of a legend. He was a bad boy that every girl wanted and every mother feared. He left a swath of broken hearts in his wake, seemingly never to notice or care. He'd been known to date Terry Grizolli. Everyone knew she put out. Probably she was the only one with a worse reputation than Morelli.
I picked my fingers through my hair to fluff it up and ran my tongue over my teeth to make sure they were clean. Frantically, I wiped my hands on the front of my new acid washed jeans in case he stopped. Who was I kidding? Why would Joe Morelli, the hottest senior at Trenton High, stop for two dorky sophomores? In any event, I desperately tried to even out my breathing and get a handle on my hormones.
Mary Lou squealed and gawked at Joe and his car as he drove by. When Joe was just about even with us, his cousin Mooch Morelli hung out the passenger window and whistled and yelled at us. Joe honked the horn in three long bursts and sped past, leaving Mary Lou and me behind.
I watched as Joe's Camaro made a screeching turn onto Roosevelt from Hamilton. As the tail lights faded away, I was left with nothing more than the jittery after effects of a close encounter with Joe Morelli. Man, I needed a cigarette.
"Joe Morelli is so fucking hot!" Mary Lou exclaimed.
"Mary Lou! You better not say that too loud. Wouldn't want Lenny to hear you talk like that," I teased. Lenny was the captain of the football team with the muscles and IQ to go with the title. He'd be the type of guy to crack skulls first and ask questions later.
"I know. I know," she nodded. "But, damn!" She shook her head, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "You know what I heard about Joe Morelli?"
"From Sue Ann again?" I moaned.
"Yes, from Sue Ann," she mocked me. "She said that she heard he has fast hands and clever fingers. Just imagine what he could do with those fingers!" She laughed, "But, I guess you'd know."
Years ago, I made the mistake of telling Mary Lou about the time Joe taught me to play choo-choo in his father's garage. He was the train, I was the tunnel. At 18 and 16, that might have been a pretty fun game. But at 8 and 6, I was just pissed that he always got to be the train.
Of course, my mother found out about our new game and forbid me to see Joe Morelli ever again. She warned me that those Morelli boys were wild. She said she'd heard stories about what they do to girls when they get them alone. She told me to stay far away from any of them, but especially Joe Morelli. That was a pretty tall order considering he just lives two blocks over from me and we've gone to the same school forever. In spite of, or maybe because of my mother's warnings about Joe, I have viewed him with a mixture of curiosity, lust, and fear ever since.
"Funny Mary Lou," I said dryly.
"Yeah, well that's not the half of it. She also said he's got a tongue like a lizard."
Eeewww. "What does that mean?"
"I don't know, but I don't think I'd want to find out. Lizards are gross." I had to agree. "Just don't let him get you alone, or you're sure to find out."
Just thinking about being alone with Joe Morelli spurred a squishy feeling in the pit of my stomach and made my face flush. "Don't worry. Joe Morelli wouldn't waste his time with me. I'm a virgin." I said it more as an explanation than as I proclamation of some great news. Mary Lou knew all the sorted details of my brief romantic resume. I had high hopes of saving myself for marriage, or at least college.
"He specializes in virgins! The brush of his fingertips turns virgins into slobbering mush."
"It doesn't matter. He's lived two blocks over from me since I was born, and I've only been alone with him once."
"Yeah! And see what happened?"
I rolled my eyes at her and continued, "There's no chance I'll be caught alone with him, so let's just drop it. Okay?" The grim reality of my last statement cooled the flush on my cheeks as effectively as pouring ice through my veins.
"Okay, Okay," Mary Lou answered holding her hands up in surrender. She took one last drag from the cigarette and offered the butt to me. I snatched it from her hand and puffed on it one last time before dropping it to the ground and grinding it into the dirt with my shoe. We'd come to a stop just outside of the Tasty Pastry, the best bakery in the Burg and my current employer, where I worked the counter from three to six every afternoon after school.
"I'll call you later, Mare," I tossed over my shoulder as I pulled open the glass door. The sudden rush of air from inside washed over me and filled my nose with the aroma of freshly baked pastries and chocolate. Involuntarily, saliva pooled in my mouth and my eyes drooped closed from the sensory overload. Mary Lou may be going steady, but I get paid to eat sugary confections everyday. She has to baby-sit her bratty little brothers to earn any spending money.
"What about Bucky's party? You never answered me."
In a moment of weakness, I replied, "Sure. Let's go."
Joe's POV:
"You going to Bucky's after graduation?" Mooch yelled above Axl Rose singing "Welcome to the Jungle." Appetite for Destruction was released last fall and was still my favorite tape.
"Yeah, I guess. Terry said she wants to go," I replied without enthusiasm. I was counting down the days until I left for the Navy and broke things off with Terry for good.
"I thought you broke up with her."
I shrugged, "She talked me out of it."
"Talked? Hunh! I bet. More like fucked you out of it."
I grinned, "She can be very persuasive."
"Why do you want to dump her, dude? I heard she tried out for the Dallas Cowgirls. The Dallas fucking Cowgirls, man! Dating a professional cheerleader would be like something right out of Penthouse Forums! Most guys would kill to be fucking Terry Grizolli."
Well, they could have her, I thought. Terry had psycho written all over her. Every time I hooked up with her, she got a little more possessive of me. Don't get me wrong. She was a good time, but I have no interest in dating her. She and her mobster Uncle Vito scare the shit out of me.
I turned the radio up a little louder, dug my cigarettes and Zippo out of my pocket, and lit up. This conversation was giving me a fucking headache. "I'm done with her," was all I said.
Mooch held up his hand for me to high-five him, and I obliged. "Right on, man. Right on," he said, nodding his head in understanding. I supposed this was how my reputation as a heart-breaker was perpetuated. Ah well, it's just easier that way.
"When do you start at the refinery?"
"Monday." All the life drained out of Mooch after uttering that one word.
"That sucks, man. You couldn't take even one week off? I mean, fuck! You're gonna be working everyday for the rest of your life."
"Tell me about it!" The fight in Mooch was returning. "That's what I said to Shirley, but she wouldn't hear it. We're saving up to get married."
Shirley Gallo had been Mooch's girlfriend for most of our senior year. She was cute…and built, but bossy. I couldn't figure out why Mooch put up with her. "Married! Shit, man, I didn't know you were engaged. We should have a party or something," I grinned over at him, knowing full well he wasn't engaged.
"We're not!"
"Then why the fuck are you saving up to get married?" I yelled at him over "Nightrain."
"Hell, I don't know. I love her, I guess."
"Wow! Love! That's some serious shit, man. Congratulations." I'd been with lots of girls in high school, but I knew I didn't love any of them.
"Hey, isn't that Stephanie Plum and Mary Lou Molnar?" Mooch hung out the passenger window to get a better look.
I squinted beneath my Oakley sunglasses and could tell by the way my body reacted that he was right. Stephanie was tall for a girl. I'd put her at 5'6 or 5'7 and about 110 pounds. She was just beginning to fill in and look more like a woman. My eyes followed the outward curve of her shoulders down to the inward curve of her slim waist and over the outward curve of her full hips. Her tight, little ass swayed back and forth as she walked down the street. I could feel the blood draining from my head and moving south with each step she took.
"Yeah, that's Stephanie." The deeper tone of my voice surprised me and I shook my head to try to regain control of my raging hormones.
Stephanie Plum lives two blocks over from me on Roosevelt and has for as long as I can remember. We didn't play together much; that is not after the first time in my father's garage.
One day when I was eight years old, I had been watching her work up the courage to jump off her parents' garage. Me and Mooch and other kids from the neighborhood were playing wiffle ball in the alley behind my parents' house. Every time I'd happen to look toward her house, I'd find her climbing on top of something and jumping off. First, it was the porch steps, and then it was the trash cans, and then it was the porch railing, until she'd finally worked up the courage to climb on top of her parents' garage and jump.
She looked so goofy. She had a blanket tied around her neck so that it flowed down her back. Each time she'd jump, it would float behind her like a cape blowing in the wind. When I saw her scaling the garage, I wandered away from the game over to her yard and asked, "What're you doing?" with all the curiosity of an eight year old.
Without missing a beat, Stephanie answered, "Flying."
Stephanie had drug the trash cans over to the tree next to the garage and stacked them on top of each other at the base of the trunk. She hoisted herself onto the cans and reached for the branches. She climbed into the tree like a monkey and up a few limbs until she was even with the garage. She scooted along the underside of the branch, hanging from her hands and knees and made her way to the garage. At the end of the limb, she righted herself and hopped onto the garage roof. She smiled at me clearly pleased with herself.
I remember telling her not to jump. "You can't fly," I said.
She screwed her face up into a scowl and said, "Can too. Watch me," and she leapt from the garage roof, arms outstretched and toes pointed. For a minute, I wondered if she could fly. Of course, she couldn't and she crashed into some bushes along the side of the garage. Good thing, because she'd probably been hurt otherwise. Her hands and knees were scratched up and her face was beat red, maybe out of embarrassment, but knowing her, probably out of anger. I saw her lip start to quiver and tears pool in her eyes. I hated when girls cried.
I created a diversion to keep her from crying and told her I'd teach her a new game. The mention of a new game dried up her tears quicker than a Band-Aid could have and she asked me to tell her about it.
"It's called choo-choo," I said. I shook my head at the memory. God, I was a rotten kid. I just couldn't help it. This girl wasn't like anyone I'd ever met before. Definitely not like my sisters or her lame friends. She was fun and exciting and adventurous.
"How do you play?" she asked.
"Follow me," I told her and lead her into my father's garage where we both had our first sexual experience. I explained, "I'm the train and you're the tunnel." I grabbed a flash light off my dad's workbench and crawled around her legs and peered up her skirt.
"I wanna be the train," she kept saying. She just didn't get it.
Somehow her mother found out about our game of choo-choo and called my mother and told her about it too. Unfortunately, my father was in the kitchen when the call came in and he demanded to know what it was about. My mother, I could handle. My father, well, that was another story. He took me back into the garage, unbuckled his belt and slid it out from his pants, and wailed on me for a good five minutes. Bare assed! I had whelps and cuts for weeks. He told me to never bother Stephanie Plum again. And boy, I didn't plan to.
I watched her grow up at a distance. It wasn't that hard. I was two years older than her and we hung in different crowds. But, I've always kept my eye on her. Even in high school, she still has that wild spirit of hers. As far as I know, no guy has "tamed" her yet. Now, wouldn't that be fun!
Mooch's voice brought me back from my daydream. "What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing." I shook my head again to clear it. "Let's give these girls something to smile about." Just as we buzzed past them, I honked the horn in three long bursts and Mooch hung out the window and hollered at them.
Mooch climbed back in the window. "Man, did you see the ass on Stephanie? Makes me wanna take a bite right out of it."
My eyes narrowed and there was warning in my voice, "Leave her alone."
"What? What do you care? You got the hots for Stephanie or something?"
I relaxed my grip on the wheel and leveled my voice. "No," I said coolly. "I just thought you were in love with Shirley."
"Yeah, Shirley," Mooch replied a bit under whelmed.
We rode in silence as "Paradise City" rumbled through my stereo speakers. "She does have a nice ass, though, doesn't she?" I smiled at Mooch. And my dad was no longer in the way…