Here's another story about riches and my past. It'll wander as it will and I'll try to tighten it up. Hell, I said I'd upload my life here and here we go again with another installment.
**
"A pavenu is a person from a humble background who has rapidly gained wealth or an influential social position; a nouveau riche; an upstart, a social climber. Generally used with the implication that the person concerned is unsuited to the new social position, esp. through lacking the necessary manners or accomplishments."
...the kind of person who tilts the soup bowl to his mouth to loudly slurp the last of it down. Me for example.
Back when I was at Rhode Island College, our crew adopted these three girls to our group. Pamela was a damaged self-esteem tart who had the luck of being pretty (but never believed it herself), Kathy was “large boned,” and I do mean large boned, she was a stocky and solid girl who wasn't obese. The last was a Guidette from North Providence who held her cards close to her vest, as I came to find out later. She was the smartest of the three, even with her late 80's stacked up hair that was glued in place by ½ a can of AquaNet. Add to that her six pleated capris and screaming hot pink shoulder padded shirt. Mineral Spring fashion for women in the 80's was something else! All three shared an apartment near the worst part of Olneyville.
They all were lower middle class. It's why they ended up at RIC, a college for those who hit middling to maybe high SATs but are poor. You know what the tuition at RIC was in 1987? You're gonna puke when I tell you. $1,000 a year. That's it. That'll hardly cover the books needed for a nursing student now.
Kathy and Pamela (Guidette opting out) went with a friend of ours to a high end al fresco cucina on Atwells ave. It was pricey and the only one who could truly afford it was my buddy. The two girls on the other hand could not but didn't stop them from ordering a bevy of appetizers, drinks and large entrees. When the bill came, Big Boned Kathy starts throwing many bills on the table and my friend notices it's way to much.
“Hey, 20%..that's enough of a tip..you threw down......35%!” He was the type who could do math in his head. When it came to money, he suddenly could to calculus using Roman numerals.
Kathy then says, “But I want to feel rich! I got paid today! Besides, the rich give HUGE tips!”
“NO THEY DON'T” says my buddy. “They're RICH because they don't waste it! And you ain't one of them!”
Later they end up at a club downtown and Kathy still is spending like a sailor, top shelf liquors and heavy tipping. My buddy stuck to his Amstel beer and hid in a darker corner while the two girls danced.
So a week later my buddy gets a call from Kathy, complaining that the other two are on her case over her not being able to come up with all her portion of the rent.
“Gee Kathy, I wonder why? I saw you dumping 20s like it was toilet paper....So what do you want, better not be a loan!” He preemptively shot that idea should Kathy float that balloon by him.
“What do I do?” she asks.
“Well, either you find more money or get those two the carry you for this month and pay them back quick! They'll hate you until you square it with them though!”
Kathy was just a spendthrift. All the best all the time, till the money ran dry.
She got the cash, by begging others she knew for small loans.
**
A few years later. B and I were invited to a summer night party in a field in Foster, RI. Kathy's Dad owned a house there and apparently he and Kathy had reconciled due to Mom's death a half a year earlier. Her parents had divorced long ago and Mom had custody of Kathy, and went on a years long demonization of Dad, who, in Mom's mind, was the cause off all ills. So after Moms death, Dad and Kathy buried the hatchet after some long talks. Guidette and Pamela were there as well.
I had brought a case of Molson Ice beer w/o knowing really just how potent it was. It drinks easy you know, goes right down. Big mistake. The next morning I sort of find out how silly I was the night before...and what came out of my mouth.
So I get to meet Kathy's Dad. He seemed unassuming, sort of looked like a TV repairman really. He had a light voice, not much eye contact and seemed like no threat at all. Everyone that night took turns hanging out by the three fires that were built in the field, drinking and partying. For some reason, my buddy B spent a lot of the night talking to the Dad in the house.
I got progressively drunk from the Ice beer. I knew I didn't have to drive home that night so I felt safe, but Ice beers can kick your ass fast and it did mine. I end up at a bonfire and find Guidette and we sit down with one another, talking and I start being goofy with her, leaning into her, lightly punching her arm with the Marco/Polo game. I'm violating her personal space in order to steal a few kisses. She may have given in a bit just to placate me or whatever, just kissing, but when I ran my hand up her shirt...
“STOP!...NO...Ronnnnnn....NO.”
“No?” I sheepishly say. I had that stupid boy's grin on my face, I knew it was there, I could feel it. I was being amorous and not malicious, to me it was just playtime.
“I'm drunk and just having fun.” I say.
She kneels down, grabs my forearms with both of her hands and shakes them a bit, to get me to focus through my now double vision eyes.
“Look...Lookit me...I know you are having fun...I know...You're a guy and that's the way...but if you want to fool around, go see Pamela or someone else.”
So what do I do? I stand up and go looking for Pamela.
I go back to the house and B and that Dad are at the kitchen table, talking still. I pass B and he leans over to me whispering, “I got one hell of a story to tell you tomorrow morning.” I had no idea what he was getting and and who cares, I can hear Pamela's voice in the other room. She's on the phone, having meltdown #309 with boyfriend #23. All her self doubt was in her voice when she was on that phone. All those years of being told she was never good enough and you could tell the boy on the other end was negging her ruthlessly, pushing those buttons. Once off the phone and she calms down some, I sit with her talk and either because she's pissed off at him or just too raw emotionally, she responds to my playfulness Guidette had shot me down for. A replay of Marco/Polo and successful kiss stealing.
We continue to play for a few minutes when I, being drunk and horny, reach up with my hand to the back of her neck and sort push her head to my lap. She got the message and shot to her feet.
Now that she's standing up, mad, she yelps out.,”Ooooooh....I've HAD it with guys tonight!..You're ALL the same!”
I sit there sort of hurt and complain to her..”I ain't that bad...You know me!”
So she has to backtrack it and says, “Ok..Ok..I know you're not a bad one...no...but you all think with your DICKS!”
I'm sitting there and think, but don't dare verbalize, ”What's wrong with that? It's so fun and girls are better than amusement parks.”
But I finally do say that, in a...softer way. “Well, I can't help it...You girls are sooo FUN....You're FUN! You were ALWAYS fun!”
At least she knew it was a backhanded compliment and didn't slap me. She then seemed to look at me in pity, it was a knowing look, because being a woman, she knew me inside and out easily after these years.
“Sighhhh...Ron...at best, you've got a good heart, you are pretty open and easy to read, not hiding much...but you treat a lot of girls like they're toys.”
“Wow...Guidette sort of said the same thing to me about thirty minutes ago.” I tell her.
The Molson Ice had removed any filters I would've had. I tend to say a lot of risque things anyway when I'm sober but now with booze? Thinking on what Guidette said, my drunken mind thinks Guidette's opinions are germane now.
Pamela finally asks, “What did Guidette say?”
I honestly tell her what happened.
“I tried getting with Guidette but she said to come to you for it”
That's when Pamela crushed two plutonium atoms together between her fingers and pure gamma rays shot out.
“She said WHAT?!!”
Whoops! Well, I was 0-2 so far. Pamela storms out, I assume to find Guidette. Damn Molson Ice really made my playfulness come out...and social skills trot away. Great, now there will be a fight between those two until they can patch things up in an hour, circle their wagons and blame me for it all to begin with.
I leaned back onto the couch and passed out. I'm too tired, too drunk and too careless to care now.
The next morning I awaken to Kathy and her Dad arguing out on the lawn. B comes in, “We gotta leave NOW.”
He goes on..”I asked something of Kathy, something her Dad told me last night.” I figure it had something to do with that “story” he was going to tell me this morning.
So, I get up and we head out the other door, get in the car and take off.
Driving down Rt 6, B asks me, “Hey, what would you do if you inherited $89,000?”
I say, “Well, I'd blow and party with 10% of it...then bank the rest like a mean ol' miser.”
“Uh-huh...just like I thought you'd do...guess who inherited $89,000 from her Mom?”
It takes a few seconds but I get the right answer...”Kathy?”
“Yep, nearly 90k and she burned through it in a year, her Dad told me the whole family story last night, the poor guy was looking to unload...decompress...tell his side. All these years he was made out to be the bastard. I think now, it was the women in the family who were the real bastards, white trash swamp yankees.”
“What did she blow it on...in a year?” I say surprised.
“Cruises, a new car, restaurants, a newer pricier apartment...I don't know...ten pairs of Skechers? No natter, it's all gone now..and she's been hitting Dad up for money now.”
Apparently that was what the lawn fight was about, Dad ripping his daughter up and down for blowing $89k. B. had let slip to Kathy's face about her wanting money from Dad. Apparently she wasn't too pleased with Dad spilling his guts to B. Kathy was now exposed.
That, was 1992. I haven't seen the girls since. Well, I saw Pamela at Snooker's pool hall one night. She was working as a bar maid and we had nearly run into one another. The conversation we had was a bit awkward, more on her part. I knew she felt vulnerable because I knew her and her past but I wasn't holding that against her. I never made any mention of it. At 29, she seemed a bit care worn with a tired face that betrayed too much experience. That fresh and confident/hussified 21 year old I knew was gone. There was no more grinding us guys in some dark nightclub now, wanting us to pay attention to her, chase her, want her. Our attention confirmed to her that she was a good person with some desirable qualities, even if on occasion she put out to get it that confirmation.
“Please tell me you like me.” Was all she ever wanted.
Now her life was going to work, home and then work again. Full time adult life had taken over. Bills to be paid, rent to be paid. Her biological clock running out already.
As to where Kathy ended up I can't say. But what I know of people, they don't tend to change too much. The personality gets a bit tweaked as they get older, but it's the same song just at a lower volume now. I can see her wheeling and dealing to make enough bucks to run her household still.
The only one that did “make it” and perhaps found some happiness, was Guidette. She had taken over the management of a women's clothing store on Mineral Spring and in time, gathered the money to start her own Nawt Providence Guidette Boutique. I'm sure she's doing well with the local clientele Nawt Providence provides. Perhaps I've seen the mascara, accessories on the girls in front of the Pavilion at Scarsborough beach, where the Nawt Providence girls glue their hair in place, wear full makeup and strut and vogue around in sting bikinis but NEVER dare go near the water. They were there in 1992 and I bet they're still there today.
1992...I was 29 then...damn. What I didn't know then was that I was about to become “nurse” for most of my 30's to sick family members. But hey, my 20's were pretty fun and how fast they all so went.
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