The Trophy Case

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Chapter Three

Connie was terrified, excited, her emotions were crashing every which way, like a whirlpool she saw once off the beach at Moro Rock. He actually asked her, a senior asked her to the Senior Prom and she was only a sophomore, and a questionable choice. It wasn’t generally known, but her father had been a wetback. At Pebble Hills, a private high school that cost a fortune, people with Spanish surnames were assumed to be Californio. She wasn’t.

Her father came to California to pick grapes. He was good and made good money with the piece work. He liked it and stayed to wash cars for cash between seasons. He sold the odd car because; in Spanish, he was one hell of a salesman. His looks also helped as he was half Austrian. The owner of the Ford agency recognized talent, and fronted some shirts, ties and jackets. He was twenty-two and the agency’s top or second salesman consistently when he met the agency owner’s daughter, who was eighteen and beautiful. He romanced her in the Galaxy XL demonstrator he won in a sales contest and ordered specially. It wasn’t until they had a marriage license in their hands that it was discovered he was illegal and had to do some time in Mexico before he could come back and be married.

Despite being a Perez, she didn’t look Latino, in fact she looked like the blue-eyed blond surfer girl she was. However, she did speak Spanish, her father insisted on that.

Michel had asked her. Like he was only the richest, handsomest love God at Pebble Hills. It worked out rather well; they became an item that summer, and then wrote, at least weekly, his entire first year at the Agricultural College at Davis. By spring break of his second year at Davis, their eventual marriage was assumed.

Connie, who tried to hide her full name Consuelo, was a tiny girl. Barely five feet and less than a hundred pounds, which made her quite a contrast to Michel who played guard in high school and had to talk himself out of the role in college. She drove up to Davis to see him over spring break. Her father had just been promoted to Used car manager, so she had a year old Galaxie 500. Her father also finished up his bachelor’s degree in Business that year, it had taken twelve years, but it rather assured that he would inherit the general manager’s job and eventually the agency as he married the owner’s only child.

Michel’s studio apartment had a full-sized bed that masqueraded, during the day, as a couch. It was the first place he brought her. He kissed her hungrily and reached between her legs, and for the first time since the Senior Prom, she grabbed his hand and said, “No.

“I have religiously been taking the pill since Christmas, so you will keep it in your pants until we go to bed tonight and you’d better not be wearing pajamas.”

“Well,” he said, “I guess you just made this the appropriate time. I was going to go into a few extracurricular activities first. Then tell I loved you, mention I couldn’t live without you, so on and so forth, then hand you this.” And he handed her a jewelry box.

“The family has six, this is one of two not currently on a finger. The Rossellis’ don’t tend toward large families, so six is usually enough. The one that’s left will go to our son, unless others become available. I have two sisters, no brothers for it to go to.”

“It’s beautiful, much more ornate than the diamond solitaires they sell today.”

“I thought you might say that, it’s the plainer of the two.”

“Oh, good Lord, I was doing everything but complaining. How old is it?”

“Five hundred years give or take a century. It’s been sized.”

“So tonight, we go to bed with five centuries of history, give or take a century? How exquisitely cool is that? I almost wish I’d forgotten to take the fucking pill. Is there a restaurant you can take me to that is horrendously expensive, has Rothchild wine and my credit card can cover it if yours doesn’t?”

“Two restaurants have our wines in the cellar, I can ask.”

The Marseilles Connection had a bottle of Carruades, and a reservation at seven.

No one questioned her drinking the wine, and the waitress gushed over her ring. They got back to the apartment. She got naked and got in bed. They successfully masturbated each other for almost two years, this was new, and Michel was a bit unsure.

“Take off your clothes and get in bed. We have all night long to figure this out, and you wimping out isn’t helping. Love me, I deserve it.”

His erection embarrassed him as he got in bed. She turned him on his back and jumped on top inserting him in her. He didn’t last a full minute.

His fingers had taken her virginity, a couple years earlier, this was no pain and pure pleasure.

“Oh God,” she said, “no wonder we have children. If this is a sin then Kyrie Eleison. Have I mentioned lately that I love you?”

They experimented, he was too big to get on top of her, but they did find that laying side to side with her leg over him was the most satisfying, that and touching each other all night.

They married that June. She attended Cal Davis and took every course she was allowed in Botany and horticulture. The gardens were hers; she created them and worked in them almost daily. Every season had a color and every hour a scent. That and her children were her triumph.

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