F.P. walked into the diner and found Fred and boys already seated.
"Thanks for the invitation," he said cheerfully.
"You're welcome. Glad you could come. The boys tell me you helped handle the party-situation before it got even more out-of-control. Thank you for that," Fred replied.
"Ah, good. So they told you."
"Well, they didn't really have a choice. I arrived mid-clean up."
"Oh man, even worse," F.P. chuckled a bit. "You okay, Archie?"
Archie's cheeks reddened. "Mostly," he said with a smile.
"I punished both boys, F.P. I think maybe I should have talked to you first, though."
"My boy's staying with you, Fred. I appreciate you taking him in and taking care of him. I have no problem with you correcting him. Thought about doing it myself the night of the party. But I thought they should have to face you. Your house, your consequences. "
Fred nodded, "Well, then. On to more pleasant topics."
"Yeah," Jughead interjected, "Like maybe a story or two about one of the times you two got in trouble."
"Us? We were saints, Jughead. What are you talking about?" F.P laughed.
"Not according to you, Mr. Jones. What about the AC/DC concert?" Archie asked.
"Or you," Jug said, pointing to Fred. "I believe you said that you and my dad got into all sorts of 'scrapes' as teenagers. Tell us about one of those scrapes."
"The concert was definitely the most trouble we got into," Fred said.
"Yeah, but what about when the cops picked us up for drag racing in Centerville?"
"Oh man," Fred sighed. "I almost forgot about that…."
"How could you? Your dad gave me fifteen licks with his belt and I can still tell you where each one landed," F.P. laughed.
"Boy, that's the truth," the other man laughed.
"Why did Mr. A's dad punish you, Dad? Why not Granddad?" Jughead asked.
"My dad would have been more likely to whup me for getting caught by the cops than for breaking the law. When we went to the AC/DC concert, he blistered both our backsides for stealing his truck. Otherwise, he wasn't too concerned about rules."
"Meanwhile, my dad was the minister," Fred grinned. "He cared a lot about the rules."
The boys chortled as their dads regaled them with stories of mischief and adventure and teenage friendship.
Later that night, as the boys got ready for bed, Archie anxiously said, "My dad's gonna whip me again tomorrow."
"What?" Jughead asked. "Why?"
"For getting drunk. He said we both got whipped for the party, but I deserve another for getting drunk too."
His friend nodded, understanding.
"I'm going to go ask if we can get it over now. I don't like waiting. I just wanted you to know in case you heard…something," the boy said.
"Ok. I could go visit Betty…."
"Nah, don't worry. I just wanted to you to not worry, if you heard." With that, Archie walked out of the room to find his dad.
Fred was in the kitchen, reading the newspaper.
"Dad? …Could we talk?"
"Sure, Arch. What's on your mind?" Fred said, closing the paper and setting it aside.
"It's about the spanking you're giving me tomorrow…."
"What about it?"
"Could you give it to me now? I just want to get it over with. Waiting is way worse."
Fred looked at his son's serious face. He could remember the dread he felt as a teenager waiting for his father's wrath.
"Ok," he said. "Where is Jughead?"
"He's in our room."
His dad nodded and stood up. He began to undo his belt. "Lean over the island. And, drop your pants."
The boy pushed his pajama bottoms down, which fell to his feet. His bare behind showed no traces of his earlier punishment.
"Archie, you are fifteen. You are too young to be drinking. I expect you to obey the law, and that says that you will not drink until you are 21. I will not tolerate you drinking. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"And, if you ever drink and drive, or get in the car with someone who has been drinking, I will make sure that this spanking seems like a pleasant memory by comparison. Do you understand that?"
"Yes, sir. Definitely."
"Good." With that Fred swung the belt over his shoulder and brought it down swiftly across the boy's pale bottom. A red streak immediately was visible and Archie gasped in pain. Swing, smack, sob. Tears rolled down the boy's face and braced himself for the next lick. Whack. The boy prayed that this punishment would be over quickly. Slap. He groaned and stood up.
"I know it hurts, Archie, but you have to bend back over," his father said, quietly.
"Just give me a moment," the boy whimpered.
"No. I'll give you to the count of three. If I get to three, then I won't count this as your second punishment. Understand?"
Archie nodded. As his father said one, the boy bent back over the island.
Thwack. The boy yelped and tried to quiet himself by pressing his face into his arm. Again the belt seared his now glowing behind. Whimpering, he continued to press his mouth into the crook of his arm. The belt smacked him low on his bottom and he jumped, resolving to never get another spanking as long as he lived and absolutely to never get two on the same day. Smack. Archie dug his fingernails into the edges of the island's butcher-block top. His dad brought the belt down across the center of his backside. The teen yelped and shifted his weight between each foot. Whack. His legs moved reflectively.
"Stand still, Archie. I am afraid I'm going to hurt you," his father demanded quietly.
"You are hurting me," the boy moaned.
"You know what I mean," his father said sternly, starting to sound angry.
The teenager forced himself to stand still, as he heard the belt whoosh through the air and thwack him painfully.
"Uh-uhha-uh," he wept. Smack and the boy squeezed the edge of the island even tighter. The belt slammed his bottom leaving a visible red stripe.
The boy's pitiful cries continued. Whack. Because listening to his son's crying was tough, Fred imagined the worst-case scenarios involving alcohol. Thwack.
"Daaaaaad, please, no more," Archie whined. Smack, the belt hit a final time. The boy dissolved on the island, while his father put the belt back on.
"Take a deep breath now, son," Fred instructed, as he rested his hand on the boy's back. After a few moments, he added, "And pull up your pajama pants."
Whimpering still, Archie did as he was told. Then his dad hugged him and said, "Let's go see what's on TV." The teen nodded, still breathing raggedly.
His dad sat on the cozy sofa and patted the seat next to him. Archie grabbed a pillow and tossed it next to his dad. Then he stretched out next to him, resting his head on his dad's leg.
As Fred flipped through the channels, he reached over and rubbed his son's hair, much like he did when the boy was much younger and resisting sleep.
"Hey, look," the man said. "The Goonies is on." After a moment, he bellowed, "Jughead! Hey, Jug! We're watching The Goonies. Come down!"
"Ok," came the distant reply.
Jughead, dressed in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt, slid into the room. He plopped down onto the sectional and pulled a blanket over himself.
After thirty minutes, Fred could tell by his son's slow and steady breathing that he was asleep, and by the next commercial break, so was Jughead. The man draped a blanket over Archie and gently took Jughead's beanie off and set it on the coffee table. He stood in the door watching the boys sleep for a moment. They both looked so young that it was easy to remember their ten-year-old faces, even their four-year-old faces. After one last look, Fred turned off the lights and headed to bed.
