Rachel’s Passion

May 1983.

Southern California.

Dimly lit and gently winding upscale suburban streets made locating the house party an unexpected challenge. Caught in the headlights, a dog-walking resident eyed my 1972 Buick Riviera with suspicion, so I obliged him by revving its snarling big-block V8 engine. My fellow assistant manager Miguel waddled over to me from a block away. "Joyo! Ray, I heard a car over the music, and knew it was yours!”

Slovenly, crude, vulgar, and not very bright, Miguel brought repugnance to the next level. Our only real commonality was having sex with the women we supervised at our restaurant. Nonetheless, I found the portly Salvadoran hilarious, and loved hanging out with him.

After my disastrous date earlier in the spring evening, I was ready to get comfortably numb. Kim had seemed promising, if a little plain, in a bucktoothed kind of way. I had even been a perfect gentleman, and what did I get for my efforts when I made a bold move after dinner?

“Ray, I’m sorry, but... can we just be friends?”

Since my 1980 senior year of high school, I had made a practice of responding to friendzoning in the most appropriate way possible.

“Fuck you, bitch!”

The drive from the bar to her apartment had been... tense. Kim had practically jumped out of my car and left the door open when I stopped at a red light two blocks from her home.

Her loss. I don’t need a delicate snow-fucking-flake. Maybe I’ll hit on her homely sister, just for fun...

My dressy date clothes stood out in the casual crowd of young partiers, but after three beers I no longer cared.

Many of the guests worked for my restaurant chain, and I was delighted to see Helena, an assistant manager from another location. She always flirted with me when I borrowed supplies from her store, and I enjoyed our raunchy banter. I didn’t take it seriously, because although Helena was a mid-twenties, friendly and gorgeous Mexican woman, excess chubbiness hindered her appeal to me.

However, alcohol was invented to make the Helenas of the world palatable. There seemed to be an infinite supply of both, and I took a moment to admire the symmetry of Creation.

I chatted and flirted with Helena for a few minutes on her way out, then she wrote her phone number on a napkin. “Ray, call me if you want to get together.”

Helena’s sexy dark eyes stiffened me as she tucked the paper in my shirt pocket, and I impulsively drew her to me. “I will, for sure!”

I then surprised both of us by passionately kissing her goodbye. Helena’s enthusiastic response lifted my spirits and gave me a sense of victory, especially after the night’s earlier rejection. Still, I felt a slight twinge of guilt for leading her on.

I probably would not call Helena. At twenty-one, I still lived with my parents and didn’t feel comfortable having women visit, especially for sex. Getting drunk enough to desire Helena made driving to her apartment a bad idea. With the goal of advancing my life as an adult, I planned on moving out soon and decided to work on it next month. Or whenever. Future me could handle the task. Present me just needed to party and get laid.

While carnal thoughts of Helena rapidly fled my consciousness, Miguel supplied me with another beer. “Hey, Batman, why didn’t you bring Catwoman with you?”

He often called me Batman because my Riviera resembled a Batmobile. Thus, Karen, our petite and very young-appearing employee, had been dubbed Catwoman. She and I both enjoyed the nicknames, even though we had only dated twice and weren’t really a couple.

I frowned. “She has finals for school, and I don’t think I’ll be taking Karen out again before her boyfriend comes back from college.”

My shoulders slumped in regret. “I probably missed my chance with Karen.”

Miguel asked, “Ray, do you want me to fire her?”

He wasn’t kidding. In Miguel’s pudgy hands, unprofessionalism became an art form.

I laughed, “No! Karen is one of my best workers, leave her alone.”

Miguel nodded. “Ok, Joyo. But let me know if you’re interested in any putas here, and I’ll introduce you.”

I appreciated it, but was fully capable of meeting women without him, especially after the four beers in me.

A normal girlfriend. Is that too much to ask for?

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