You were probably unaware that my friends and I are vacationing in Amsterdam. Also, you're probably surprised to receive a postcard from me since I've not had anything to do with you since seventh grade. I want you to know that I am sensitive to your disappointment.
I am writing to ask a favor. I'm worried Logan has been unfaithful. Would you mind checking up on him? Maybe ride your bikes passed his house a few times a day. If you see him downtown, perhaps, you could follow him. It shouldn't be much of an inconvenience since there are two of you.
My deepest gratitude,
Mary Anne Spier
Everyone thinks Logan and I are the perfect couple. That's just not true. We have problems just like all couples. Most people don't understand how difficult it is to maintain a serious relationship in eighth grade. It's not easy to keep the romance alive.
Maybe I sound cynical about the state of our relationship. Trust me, it's with good reason. Since arriving in Amsterdam, I've come to suspect that Logan has been unfaithful. In spite of our constant problems, I thought our relationship to be much stronger than that. But no, as soon as I left town Logan started fooling around. I had spent most of the trip in tears.
How did I learn about these alleged indiscretions? Easy. I'd been telephoning two to three times a day.
Stacey and I went halvsies on a phone card, so I could call Logan and Stacey could call this guy she met at a gas station in Stamford. The international calling rate was surprisingly reasonable. I wanted to get my ten dollars worth. I knew that card was my connection to Logan and in a sense, my heart. I missed him as soon as we drove away from Stoneybrook. Sleeping in his t-shirt only made me yearn for him more.
Sunday morning, I woke with a painful ache in my chest. My body, mind, and soul were telling me I needed Logan. It was eleven a.m. in Stoneybrook, so I tiptoed downstairs and into the kitchen. I dialed his number, my heart beating faster with each touch of a button.
Mr. Bruno answered.
"Hello, Mr. Bruno," I greeted him. "This is Mary Anne! Calling from Amsterdam! Is Logan home?" Where else would he be? I pictured him sitting on his bed, forlorn, marking off the days to my return on his G.I. Joe calendar.
"Sorry, Mary Anne," said Mr. Bruno. Except, it sounded like Saw-ree Mahree Ayun. His accent's almost as dreamy as Logan's! "Logan just skedaddled outta here."
Shocked, I wailed. "But, Mr. Bruno! Wherever did he go?"
"On a picnic with Shawn Riverson,"
"Shawna Riverson?" I repeated, heart sinking in my chest, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow.
"I reckon. Look, Mary Anne, I gotta hang up. I'm learnin' Kerry and Hunter to shoot beer bottles off the back fence,"
As I burst into uncontrollable tears, I threw myself onto the kitchen floor, sobbing my broken, aching heart out. How could Logan betray me? And, with Shawna Riverson! I thought our love could defy the odds of lasting beyond the eighth grade!
Day after day, I telephoned. It became an obsession. I spoke to Mr. Bruno, Mrs. Bruno, Kerry, Hunter, and even their next-door neighbor, Old Man Finkelstein. Each time it was the same story - Logan was out on the town with some hot number. Picnicking with Shawna Riverson. Canoeing with Janine Kishi. A romantic carriage ride through Olde Towne Stoneybrook with Ashley Wyeth. He even took Tess Swinhart to shoot rats down at the quarry! Logan always said that was family only!
The strangest part of the whole mixed-up mess is that the Brunos didn't even try to make excuses for him. They were actually excited about "all the ladies he's a-courtin'."
Wednesday night, after many tearful days and nights, I reached a conclusion about the recent peril in my and Logan's once passion-filled relationship - he was dissatisfied with its physical aspects.
Everyone assumes I'm such a prude. That's just not true. Yes, Logan and I had not yet progressed passed three-second open-mouth kissing. But, that wasn't my choice. It was Logan's. The truth is, I have long been ready for some hot and heavy action. Ever since my special visitor (finally!) arrived last November my hormones had been raging like crazy. Sometimes all I want to do is tear off Logan's shirt and douse his body in honey like a sticky sweet after-school snack.
Logan will have none of such behavior. He tells me, "Don't spoil the fruit while it's still on the tree." I don't always understand Logan's Southern wisdom, but I do respect his desire to preserve my innocence. However, that never stops me from trying to unzip his pants with my teeth.
So far during our vacation what time I hadn't spent crying or sightseeing I spent thinking of ways to improve our relationship. I had to win back Logan's love and devotion! Finally, it hit me. Why was Logan so against entering into a physical relationship with me? It was devastating to think that Logan might be experimenting with those other girls. Why wasn't I good enough for him? That's when I had my epiphany - it had nothing to do with me! The excuse of preserving my innocence was just that, an excuse. The real reason? Logan was experiencing performance anxiety. He wanted to pleasure me in such a way that my screams of ecstasy would shatter windows. The pressure overwhelmed him. He just couldn't keep it up. His love for me was that powerful.
And, possibly, he was embarrassed about the girth of his manhood.
That, I had actually suspected all along. Last February, not long after the Cream Cheese Incident (trust me, you don't want to know!) I stayed up late to watch the Hayley Mills-Dean Jones classic That Darn Cat! During a commercial break, I flipped over to the scrambled porn channel. That's when I saw it - an ad for Man Grow. Instantly, I knew that's what Logan needed. I ran to the kitchen, retrieved Sharon's wallet from the blender, and dialed the toll free number. Sharon's always leaving her credit card statements in the toaster oven, so I knew she'd never notice an extra $14.99 purchase. Unfortunately, the Man Grow arrived on a Saturday afternoon while I was babysitting Nina Marshall. Dad intercepted the package and thought Sharon ordered it for him! There was a huge blowout. They didn't speak for three days! It was so disappointing. I'd ordered the Man Grow in the apricot-scented spray and everything.
Since then, I had thought of no other way to help Logan. That is, not until Wednesday night. While riding the tram with Anna, Mallory, and Gerhild, I pondered my predicament. How could Logan regain confidence in his manhood and stamina? There were a couple ideas floating around in my head, but they required immediate action. I didn't want to miss Cam Geary's movie! Of course, I had seen Timmy Elfman: Teen Dentist five times when it premiered in the U.S. seven months earlier. But, never in Dutch! My favorite magazine #1 Fan never even mentioned that Cam knew a second language! I was dibbly impressed.
However, my relationship with Logan took precedence over Cam's linguistic skills. Logan needed me. So did his pride. And his love carrot.
"So, Gerhild," I said, casually, "do you visit the Red-Light district often?"
Gerhild looked surprised. "No. Mostly I watch pirate movies,"
"How hard would it be to get into one of those...um...specialty shops?"
"I do not understand,"
"Oh, well, you know...one of those adult stores,"
"Mary Anne wants to go to a sex store!" Anna shrieked.
My face turned twelve shades of red while Anna doubled over with laughter. How humiliating! Poor Mallory paled whiter than a sheet.
I coughed, nervously tracing a puff-painted kitten with a finger. "I want to see everything Amsterdam has to offer, that's all," I whispered, as a single tear rolled down my left cheek. What a burden to possess such a sensitive soul.
Touched by the tenderness of my heart, Gerhild took pity on me. "There is a store where sometimes my brother Georg works. Fraulein Vankerbergen will let us come in. We will switch trams at the next stop,"
The Red-Light district was packed. We pushed through the crowd, holding hands. It was rather frightening, yet still, I felt a rush of excitement course through my veins. This was a real adventure! Maybe even more so than that time Claudia and Dawn were stranded on a desert island. Mallory whimpered as we passed some Rastafarians smoking and dancing on a street corner. (Maybe they knew Jessi!) Across the street, a couple scantily clad women hung out a third story window, flashing their breasts and calling down to passersby.
"This place is great!" Anna exclaimed.
Anna and I waved to the ladies, although I know my face was quite flushed. Hormones or no hormones, I'm still shy!
Gerhild lead us into a small store with a torn awning. It was crammed between a coffee shop (filled with more Rastafarians. They were everywhere! I didn't see Jessi though) and a building painted like a rainbow. Inside the store, Gerhild greeted the burly man behind the register.
"Guten tag, Fraulein Vankerbergen," she said.
I did a double take. That was no man! It was a woman! She was like no woman I had ever encountered in Connecticut or even on my many trips to New York and Los Angeles. I studied her carefully, committing every detail to memory, so I could give Logan a full report when we reconciled. The woman was at least six feet tall and wore a sleeveless jean shirt that showed off her bulging biceps. Her dirty blonde hair was spiked on top and long and thin in the back. There was a wad of chaw in her right cheek.
"Got a staring problem, Little Lady?" growled the woman.
I turned bright red. Tears sprang to my eyes, but I fought them back. Gathering my courage I approached the strange, beefy woman.
"Pardon me, Fraulein..."
"Vankerbergen,"
"Vankerbergen...where might I find the...the...um..."
"Spit it out before you choke on it,"
"Penile enhancement creams?"
Vankerbergen spat into the brass spittoon beside the register. "Boyfriend trouble?" she asked.
I sniffled. Could I share Logan's lack of confidence in his ability to pleasure me with a complete stranger? Yes. Yes, I could. "He's insecure about the power of his manhood," I told her.
"They all are, Little Lady. Male enhancement items are behind the feather boas and dog collars," Vankerbergen spat into the spittoon again. "Nice kitten t-shirt,"
I headed toward the back of the store where I saw the feather boas hanging. I passed Mallory on all fours, neighing and pawing at the linoleum while Anna whacked her with a leather riding crop. I walked behind the feather boas and gasped. An entire wall dedicated to male enhancement! Creams, sprays, pills, gadgets, books...I didn't know where to begin! But, I'm very organized. (As BSC secretary I've never once made a scheduling mistake). I mentally separated each enhancement cream by the language of its instructions (most were in Dutch or German). I narrowed my choices to four creams. It all came down to one detail - result time. Dad taught me not to trust instant gratification, so I discounted anything promising immediate results. On the other hand, I knew I couldn't wait six to eight weeks for a passionate reconciliation with Logan. Finally, I selected Whatta Man! which guaranteed visible results in two to three weeks. For good measure, I grabbed a penis pump off the shelf.
"Hey, Mary Anne! Look what I found!"
I turned and shrieked. I stood face-to-face with a giant inflatable doll. She wore a leopard-print bikini, silver braces, green-framed glasses, and what appeared to be a bright red clown wig.
"Don't we look alike?" beamed Mallory. "I'm sending her to Ben!"
I smiled politely.
"What's that?" Mallory asked, pointing to the box tucked under my arm.
"Um...it's a...bike pump...for Jeff,"
"Cool! I'll get one for the triplets! I already found an awesome back massager for Uncle Joe!"
Flushed with embarrassment (and excitement) over my daring purchases I started toward the register. That's when I noticed a pair of twinkling blue eyes watching me from behind a rack of soft core porn videos. Could it be? I stepped closer.
"Logan?" I gasped.
All my anger, disappointment, and despair melted away. That's why Logan was never at home! He had spent all his hard-earned savings to fly to Amsterdam! To be with me! My heart soared. I dropped the Whatta Man! and the penis pump. Logan and I didn't need those things. We only needed each other.
Those twinkling blue eyes traveled higher until their owner stood fully erect. Something was not quite right. I studied him intently. It was with a sinking sigh of devastation that I realized it was not Logan who stood before me. It was Cam Geary!
"Cam?" I whispered. "Cam Geary?"
The stranger shook his head. I noticed he wore a Girl Scouts of America t-shirt. "Sorry to spy on you, ma'am," he drawled. "My name's Stephen Montalbano. I'm visiting from Ponchatoula, Louisiana. I saw you talking to that homely girl over by the penis pumps. I must say, you sure are beautiful when you turn redder than a tomato in the summertime. I just had to come over and meet you."
I felt my face grow hot. This was so embarrassing! I have a hard enough time talking to boys I know, like Alan Gray and Pete Black! I stared down at my loafers. "Thank you. I'm Mary Anne Spier," I mumbled.
"Well, Mary Anne Spier, I was thinking that you and me could grab some Thai food around the corner,"
A date? With another boy? What would Logan think? "Oh, I have a boy - " I started to say. Then, I thought a second more. Logan didn't own me. He certainly wasn't worried about me and my feelings while he was out swing dancing with Emily Bernstein! I made my decision. "I love Thai food!"
Stephen nodded. "Good, good. Afterward, we could stop by the youth hostel and pick up this girl scout uniform. We could find a quiet place, you could put on the uniform, and if you try to sell me some thin mints I promise to show you my tagalong,"
My hands flew to my mouth. A sexual proposition! I was shocked. And yet, intrigued. My innocence was not Logan's to protect. I could give it away anytime, any place. Plus, the possibility of role playing really stirred a passion inside me. I felt my entire body go hot - and not from embarrassment.
"I can't tonight. How's tomorrow?"
Logan didn't know what he was missing.