THE S CLUB

Neil met me at fifth period in the South Cafeteria. “So you decided to come,” he chuckled like a cad. “Eddie, my boy, I am proud of you. It is nice to see a boy become a man.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Have you ever seen two people fuck before?”

“No,” I said. Even though I had (in a way) as most virgins have in their collective unconscious.

The municipal stench of meat loaf steamed off from the kitchen. The cafeteria was a cacophony of catcalls, chatter and crashing plates. The teacher monitoring the sixth period lunch was Mr. Kessler. He wore black narrow ties and purple shirts and black hipster sports jackets. He had rings on his fingers and Vitalis in his hair. At times, he called himself

“Daddy-o.” He taught Science and had the posture of a mole. His callous and cool mien terrified me. He watched the goings-on in the cafeteria with a resigned and ennui lidded eye.

The Friday afternoon was unseasonably warm. An irksome sweat trickled down everyone’s brow. A yellow, July-like haze hovered on the playing fields. It was decided that Neil and I would rendezvous with Ronnie in the ravine behind the school.

“Follow me,” said Neil as we sat down on the farthest table closest to the open door. Sneaking out of the cafeteria on a hot day was not impossible. I think, at least, one fourth of the entire Junior High School population had done it at one time or another in their academic career. Silently, we watched Kessler.

Mr.Jakes, an English teacher with a bon-bon belly tapped Kessler’s shoulder. He spun around as Mr.Jakes feverishly whispered something in his ear. Kessler’s shoulders dropped into an uncertain slump. Something awful must have happened. Another plane crash, another war somewhere, nothing that really mattered. With Kessler’s back turned, we slid out the door.

Ronnie was smoking Marlboros in the shade. She spied the gnats that dangled around her with disdain. “You little fuckers should be dead,” she said. “It’s November for God’s sake.” Her loop earrings rattled and made little red sores on her ear lobes.

Ronnie La Neere had a tall oily body yet she managed to slouch and make herself shorter than she actually was. Her mouth either had a lit cigarette drooping from it or a piece of gum grinding in it. Her manner was that of total chronic boredom unless the prospects of a party loomed. She applied her eyeliner with Queen Nephrite strokes and swirls. Her permanent sneer could curdle the most healthy cells to cancer.

One can say that Ronnie and her mother were not exactly on “speaking” terms with one another. It was more like “screaming” terms with one another. Ever since fifth grade when her mother was drunk and told her that she married her “bum of a father” because she got pregnant. And that her marriage was, in truth, her demise was Ronnie’s fault.

Ronnie hated her mother for being so dumpy, white trashy and old. And Ronnie’s mother hated Ronnie for being so dumpy, white trashy, and young.

Ronnie puffed on her cigarette. She turned and acknowledged our presence, “What took you so long?”

“Kessler had cafeteria duty and was watching the place like a snake,” he answered.

“Oh God, don’t I know it. I swear that man has made a pass at me,” she said. “He is such a slime. But he is the sexiest teacher in the whole science department.” She coughed and twisted toward Neil. “You got the fifty?”

“Yeah, I got it,” he said.

“Fifty what?” I asked.

“Fifty bucks, whaddya think. Fifty bucks for one fuck, asshole” She then laughed. “You know I am not free. I am not like that fat tramp, Cheryl Panza.”

She then with a new heightened level of disdain. ”What are you going to do...watch?”

I shrugged. ”I suppose,” I said sheepishly. “I really hadn’t expected you two to copulate.”

“Copawhat?” she attacked.

“Fuck,” I said.

“Well let’s see the money,” she demanded.

Neil opened his wallet.

“You saved for it?” she asked in awe. All the records, all the clothes she could buy edged into her voice.

“Let’s just say I borrowed it from Dad and if he misses it, tough.”

“Give it to me.”

“Not until you deliver the goods,” replied Neil.

She snapped her gum the way a rattlesnake snaps it’s tail. Pop.

I could have sworn that both of them must have studied “West Side Story” to assimilate the proper hoodlum and hussy etiquette.

“Hey Baby,” she said,” give me a cig.”

“Anything you want,” said Neil.

“Ronnie inhaled the blue smoke and coughed. We then followed the railroad tracks home to his house (to pick up some brews) and then we continued to the huts in the potato field.