Have you ever noticed any of life's peculiarities firsthand? Anything derived from good or bad karma might be a case in point. Poker Gods or Poker Devils doing their thing could be a typical example. Ya know, forty to one odds against hitting a one outer, and then the card turns up when it hurts most.
I have noticed many things that were against all odds. Back in eighty-four the odds of me making a hole in one were greater than twelve thousand to one. It happens: nothing strange about an ace. What made mine very peculiar was how it came about. Looking back even making eye contact with Kathleen Turner twice, twenty-six years apart, somehow seems connected to events that followed my first hole-in-one. That might be a stretch, but it's all in the timing. That makes it odd to me.
Nothing odd about seeing Kathleen's clean shaven pubic area or Ms Turner watching the back of Jayne Turner's head bobbing up and down. It wasn't for apples. I did invite the actress to join us, but, sadly, she smiled and declined my offer. The oddity started a week later after Matt knocked on Jayne's door. Normally I was long gone. Seeing Matt holding a large pizza box abruptly ended my liaison - thus leading to a great twenty-two year relationship that should've started the afternoon prior to meeting Jayne.
After fourteen plus years of marriage my wife left me and our three children for another man. Since I was rarely home, I guess absence didn't make her heart grow fonder. Those studies gotta be bogus. I'd bet I'm not the only man who screwed up by working too many seven day workweeks, countless twelve and ten hour days, and away at college four nights a week for five years. Yes, my first love spoke the truth, "You're never home!"
I regret being a lousy husband. I was a baaaad man, yet the apparent the Golfing Gods rewarded me with a lot of cash several months after seeing my ex-bride crying hysterically on the courthouse steps as I felt no remorse. In fact I felt fantastic and wanted to do cartwheels down the sidewalk. In no way did I deserve good karma - unless it was for my future good deeds.
Let the peculiarities begin. Frank Joyce was scheduled to play golf on a Tuesday in a charity event in honor of a dead company IRD rep, Frank Bongaret. The preceding Friday Frank Joyce accepted a non-union position at work: supervisor. A friend of mine, Frank 'Butch' Kennedy, convinced our union president that I should take Frank's place. I'm in, Frank's out: just the beginning.
The Monday before the golf tournament I got a call to play golf sixty miles away. That might've been the first time I left work to tee it up. I'm sure it was the only time I lost a golf club: my six iron. Those devious Golfing Gods had something to do with me leaving it on a teeing area. I'm sure of it.
The next day Butch, two union brothers and I walked toward the eleventh hole. En route to the teeing area we stopped to check out a Chevy Camaro: a hole in one prize donated by M. J. Sullivan, a local car dealer.
The hole was uphill, one hundred and sixty five yards away into a slight wind. Without my six I had to jump on my seven. The odds of 'Against All Odds' winning the Oscar for best picture had to be better odds than me hitting a seven if I had my six iron.
Although the elevated green was severely sloped with the lower end closer to us we still couldn't see the hole because of the steep hill. The golf shot felt good and the ball headed toward the flag poll. I saw the ball land and disappear. Two observers jumping for joy on the other side of the green indicated it went in. A short time later one of those men told me, "The ball hit a few yards beyond the hole with a lot of backspin."
Yup, the six iron would've been too much club. Thank you, Golfing Gods. And thank you M. J. Sullivan for giving me ninety-four hundred dollars instead of the car. That cash, my savings, along with the five grand awarded to me for a suggestion at work enabled me to have the time of my life for fifty-four weeks without a job. Frank Bongaret's replacement, Charlie Petshark, an IRD rep, unjustly fired me a year and a half after my first ace.
The discharge read, "Violation of rules and regulations." Whatever rule I violated was top secret until long after escorting me out of the shipyard. I realized Charlie was going to build a case based on one document. Our union attorney, Arthur Goldman, had requested that document even though Goldman had a copy. Charlie had lied about that document being destroyed and swore under oath if it did exist; it would take months to find in a warehouse that had no filing system.
The debate over the document lasted about an hour. Finally Goldman slammed the document onto the table and shouted, "They have an excellent filing system at that warehouse. It only took a few minutes to get a copy of that document."
Oops! Charlie's bright red face and hateful stare made it clear to me that I was in serious trouble or he was about to kill me. I informed Goldman that Charlie was going to fire me. He assured me that's not possible. Then Goldman had me take the witness stand to tell the arbitrator exactly how I managed to get a copy of that company document. Later Charlie would claim the document is 'confidential' and was 'ill-gotten'.
Goldman was wrong and the arbitration case we were clearly winning came to a screeching halt. All the other valid grievances I had filed were signed off by a new union president during my extended break. The new guy barely beat me while I was out of the shipyard, but I was the favorite to win the union election until my untimely departure.
In hindsight that firing turned out to be a blessing. I got to meet six very attractive women. The last one turned out to be a treasure providing me with lots of pleasure for twenty-two plus years. Kamadeva, the God of love, took care of me. The reactions, words and looks from female co-workers I came across at union functions during my expulsion made me think my mug had changed for the better. It couldn't be just my different haircut and contact lenses.
At the GHO golf tourney in eighty-six an attractive big blue-eyed blonde smiled at me. I turned in all directions, looking to make certain her eyes were on me. No doubt they were. Methinks my puzzled expression led her to believe a nitwit stood ten feet away. If only I had smiled back, Marilyn might've made the second move instead of strolling away. I had never set eyes on her before and not again until nine months later. That's when she asked me to dance at a club over sixty miles from my house. The odds that I got a second chance with her had to be astronomical - unless the Love Gods were involved.
The night of the GHO I dropped in at a simply marvelous single's dance. The women outnumbered the men. That made it a worthwhile forty minute drive. My three prior visits were very rewarding. I think my last connection ended after hearing I was unemployed and had three teenagers living with me. I didn't believe her 'I'm getting back with my ex- husband' excuse, especially after seeing her with a new guy that GHO night. We were exchanging friendly smiles when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned.
"Do ya wanna dance?" asked Jayne Turner.
"Love to," I replied, but I didn't say, "I love your curves." Eventually I did ask, "Do you know who you remind me of?"
"Adrienne Barbeau?" she answered rather quickly. "I get that a lot."
"Yeah, gotta be the hair and eyes."
Jayne had a curvaceous hour glass figure with a lot more sand on top. There was something particularly special about her breasts and how she showed them off. Thinking back, I miss 'em: both of them.
She was into group massages: a bunch of nudes rubbing your body at the same time. Okay with me as long as they're all women. If that makes me homophobic, I'll live it. Jayne, a proud nudist, eventually brought me to her favorite nudist camp. That was fun, but sex inside my car afterwards, outside the entrance, led to a brief split.
Her moans were loud and disturbing since we were parked in front of houses. It was taking me forever. She thought it was rejection. After I told her the possible real reason, she said, "My husband liked my moaning."
All I said was, "I'm not your husband." Meaning, of course, I'm a different person. She thought otherwise and wouldn't say a word all the way to her car - not even a friendly good-bye.
A few weeks later my mom stayed with my kids while I drove to Florida for several weeks. Then it was hellooo, Mary. A face like Karen Allen's with a body like Jayne's, only better and younger.
My little crush on Karen Allen started with 'The Wanderers' and ended after seeing her on stage a couple of weeks after my discharge. Pretty face, but not much of a bod. Mary's body, to me, hubba hubba.
I came close to bringing a willing Mary back to Connecticut. Foolish me thought it might be inappropriate because of my kids. If only she hadn't liked alcohol too much and hadn't brought her girlfriend to bed with us after me saying, "No!" I've might've given in and brought her home. Methinks the Love Gods knew Marilyn was best for me.
After Jayne's friendly call we dated again on the weekends since she worked and lived ninety miles away. One Sunday we met at the Long Wharf Theater to see Kathleen Turner in 'Camille'. We had great seats: first row left of stage. One scene brought K T to the edge of the stage, in front of a lit table lamp. Although she wore a thin nightgown, the absence of bra and panties were notable due to the bright lamp. It was like she was wearing nothing at all. Yes, Kathleen was a clean-shaven gal.
There's a loading platform by the entrance to the theater. Jayne Turner and I parked in front of it between two large trucks. We thought everyone had left.
Kathleen, wearing a full length fur coat, stood less than ten feet away, resting her arms on the rail. Showing no emotion whatsoever she kept staring at me. She had to see the top of Jayne's head and knew what she was up to. Extremely embarrassed I didn't know how to handle the situation so I just gave her a huge smile and a friendly hand jester to join us.
Ms Turner smiled, slowly shaking her head. Minutes later a long black limo with dark tinted windows picked her up and drove away. That's gotta be the reason she didn't join us. Not enough time. I wonder if she remembered me when we stared into each other's eyes twenty-six years later. I didn't change that much. She certainly did.
The last movie Ms Jayne Turner and I watched together happened to be 'Outrageous Fortune' staring Shelly Long and Bette Midler. Less than seven days later I met a Shelly Long's shorter look-a-like, and in due course fell in love, again. Come to think of it, Jayne's breasts might've resembled Bette Midler's breasts. After the movie Jayne and I fooled around in her apartment. That was the last time I got to handle her mammoths.
Like clockwork I normally left Jayne's place at ten due to a long drive home. Those Love Gods must've made me stay a little longer and by ten thirty I sensed she wanted me to be gone for an ulterior motive that might involve another man. I was right!
Young pretty boy Matt showing up at eleven worried me. The guy appeared gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but Jayne and I never practiced safe sex. Since that AIDS epidemic involved gays in the eighties, an apparent promiscuous Jayne didn't seem like the right woman for me unless I wore a glove. Some claimed even oral sex wasn't safe. I didn't want to take the chance no matter how many times Jayne swore their relationship was strictly platonic - whatever the muck that means.
Then along came Marilyn. I have no idea what brought me to Mark Anthony's club in Hartford that Saturday night. It seemed like a million miles away, but more like sixty.
My interest in a petite red head sitting alone increased after her friendly smile. I made a move, but after a few steps I noticed a young black kid dragging her onto the dance floor. So I left my bar stool location. The place was packed, but I found a closer spot by two women and two men chatting. I stood there eyeing my aspiration while waiting for her to return to her seat. The words lady's choice came out of the loud speakers.
A tall Italian man said to the blonde that had her back to me, "Lady's choice, hint, hint."
Marilyn, that blonde, turned and asked me to dance. Her female sidekick appeared as stunned as the tall dark haired wolf. Later Marilyn told me some of the jokes Casanova had told her were inappropriate.
Good looks, savvy, a great job, a golfer, and tennis player, what more could a man ask for? Big breasts, but it's written they make men dumb or dumber. Most of us are willing to take the chance. I managed to have a great time without them for twenty-two plus years.
While visiting my nephew in Florida I bought a house by a nearby beach. A few years later I bumped into Marilyn strolling along the beach at low tide. We chatted and ended up at a bar overlooking the ocean. Her aunt had lived close by and Marilyn was there handling her estate. After enjoyable four or five hours together, I failed to ask her out.
I rented a condo that summer in Connecticut and spent most of my time at the Foxwoods Casino. My last day there, sometime in September, I sat at a small table for two inside their buffet area. An obese woman sat down at the table next to mine - about three feet away. When she spoke to the waitress I recognized her voice instantly. It was so unique, but it didn't go with that body.
Kathleen Turner must've had a hunch someone was staring. She turned. We made eye contact for a couple of seconds and exchanged quick half-smiles prior to me returning to the food in front of me.
I thought of Marilyn, Jayne and Kathleen standing alone on that platform so many years ago. Are the Love Gods sending me a message via K T? Reminding me of all those good times I had with Marilyn after seeing both Turners? I wanted to give Marilyn a call since the first day there. Perhaps this was the nudge I needed.
Years later I discovered Kathleen had been working on a movie in nearby Rhode Island, 'Dumb and Dumber to'. Yeah, an appropriate title since I never called Marilyn. After reading her obituary two days ago I decided to write this short story.