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From: Krieg Lite <critic@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: Jenny (Mf+ teen play) Chap 4


As found in the noodle box...

[WARNING: This is a non-erotic interlude. Skip this chapter and wait for
chapter 5 if you're looking for the good stuff.  Maybe even chapter 6
for the serious good stuff.]

[WARNING Two:  Might be an appreciable wait before the posting of the
next chapter.]

------------------------------------------------------------ 
Chapter Four
The Date

    Despite a relatively good sleep, all day the next day I was as
nervous as some pimply faced adolescent awaiting his first date. I had
spent most of my free moments during the day regretting letting Jenny
talk me into this thing. I couldn't think of any way it could turn out
well for me. I could think of a dozen ways it could turn into a minor or
major disaster. I could even wind up in jail. Not necessarily likely,
but possible. But at the same time, there was a certain excitement
associated with it. As the day progressed, my excitement mounted. It was
very much like the time I had agreed to go skydiving: class was fun, but
that first time I knew I was going to step out of an airplane was a
totally different kind of feeling. I wondered if this would end up the
same way. After I had done it once, the second time just wasn't the
same, and I gave it up. Of course, just as with skydiving, a second time
wasn't guaranteed anyway.

    At two minutes before seven, I knocked on the door. Jenny opened
it. She was dressed in blue jeans and a loose shirt and was carrying a
dust cloth, which she had apparently been using. She said in her best
voice, "Oh, good evening, Mr. Palmer. Won't you come in? Mother will be
with you in just a moment." She then turned and screamed up the stairs.
"Mom! He's here!" And then back again to the young sophisticate. "Please
sit down. Could I get you some coffee or something?"

    "Yes, Larry? Would you like something?", Jenny's mother came walking
down the stairs, all ready to go. Remarkable. "Or do we have time? By
the way, I'm Helen. I don't think we quite got to that last night."

    "Helen, you look lovely!" She actually looked better than that,
but I thought I'd better keep something in reserve. "Thank you very
much, I think I will have a cup of coffee."

    "Coming right up!", Jenny said, and left the room. Helen smiled
at me and shook her head, her eyes twinkling, as a sign of resignation
with the behavior of her offspring. I started to relax, though I wasn't
sure why. Nothing had happened to change my original misgivings about
the probable end result of the evening, so it might have been simply
contagious resignation. By the time Helen and I had seated ourselves
opposite each other across the coffee table, Jenny was back: as good as
her word.

    My relaxation was interrupted by Helen's next words. "So you got
lucky, huh?" After a moment's no doubt delightful observation of my
discomfort, she continued. "I wish my office were creative enough to
think of raffling concert tickets. I'm afraid football pools for filthy
lucre are more the style there; perhaps it's because with most of them
music is more often associated with work." I breathed again, and without
pausing more than was necessary to get her timing right, she followed up
with, "Not that I object to taking their money, of course."

    I chuckled appreciatively (and honestly), and disavowed any
incipient civilization on the part of my office mates, pointing out that
someone had probably got stuck somehow with a couple of tickets which he
had used the pool to get rid of. And then commented (again honestly),
"This coffee is delicious!"

    "I'm afraid I'll have to give Jenny credit for the coffee. Though I
feel compelled to add that I taught her how to make it."  Helen paused,
then said "You know, I did win something worthwhile once. I was in the
third grade." She went on to tell a cute, and probably totally invented,
or at least energetically edited, story about winning a typical third
grade contest which gave her a book on the great composers. She told it
well, and her timing was impeccable. She reached the punch line just as
it was time to leave. I was no longer just relaxed, but impressed. And
pliable, I'm afraid.

    Although I didn't realize it at the time, Helen had been taking
command, in a way, or at least limited command, or at a minimum control.
Never questioning, much less insistent, she used stories and anecdotes
to tell me about herself, and also to get me to tell her about myself.
And I loved every minute of it. And I told her. One mildly jarring
moment came when we left. Jenny saw us to the door, and said cheerfully
and innocently, "Good night Mom. Have a good time. I'll see you
tomorrow."

    Although she had said nothing other than "OK, Jenny" at the
time, once we were out of earshot Helen told me, "Much as I hate to, I
suppose I'm obligated to explain that Jenny is going to spend the night
at her friend's. Hence her remark about seeing me in the morning." I
could feel her eyes twinkling in the darkness.

    While we were in the car on the way to the restaurant, I learned
that the third grade book on composers had led to an interest in music
which lasted until college, where she majored in music. At the
restaurant (Chinese, always an effective litmus) she showed that she was
a good, and skilled, eater. She knew how to select her food, and it was
obvious that while not exactly a vegetarian, meat was not a primary part
of her diet. She also knew the difference between good food and
mediocre, and was not afraid to make the distinction once she had tasted
it. Always a perfect lady, she could still make intelligent conversation
about the food while she continued with her account of her personal
history and her exploration of mine. She had grown up next door to
Jenny's father -- a classic romance celebrated in teen songs immemorial,
at least those of our era. They had dated throughout high school, and
had gone to the same college, where they got married while she was a
sophomore and he a senior, and when she had been three months pregnant
with Jenny. His family had had money, so continuing school was not a
problem, or even an issue. Jenny had been born in July, so Helen hadn't
missed a class. Her husband by this time was already gainfully employed
(as a junior executive in his father's company), so neither Helen nor
Jenny were deprived of physical or emotional nourishment. Things started
to fall apart shortly after Helen graduated. Not necessarily because of
her graduation, but just because they had been married for a couple of
years and marriage wasn't what they thought they had been waiting for
all those years. By the time Jenny was three and a few months they had
parted, more or less amicably.

    After the divorce, Helen had gone to work, first as a secretary,
and then later by virtue of some school contacts, as a music instructor
at the school where she had graduated. Work had not been a real
necessity for her at the time, because her ex had been more than
generous. Once they were apart they could stand each other again, and
they remained friends. Until he died in a car accident a year or so
later. He had left her name on his insurance policy. His family had
never really accepted the divorce, still considered her part of the
family, and offered to continue her support. She would not accept it;
but she did decide that she needed to be more than a teaching assistant,
so she went for and got her masters, and then her doctorate, and now had
tenure. And together with my reciting my history to her, that took care
of dinner. But unless you understand that I had never until then even
confided to my mother or my ex-wife most of what I told her it would be
very difficult to explain that I had been -- in the most literal sense

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