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.
