A hot night. . .

'You're late,' Samantha yelled up the stairs.

'It's a matter of policy,' I said, adjusting my tie as I descended them.

'Policy?'

'Yes,' said I. 'I always make it a point to be late for dates I shall not enjoy.'

The girl tore at her greasy mop of brown hair. 'Alfie,' she said, 'you may be cute, but you're so mean!'

'Be fair, now, Sam,' said I. 'I haven't mistreated you. I've only implied that I do not see myself enjoying our forthcoming date. That is all.'

At this, my mother entered the front hallway to adjust my collar. Then, after a short and awkward attempt at frivolous conversation between the three of us, Samantha and I left hand-in-hand.

The dance

When the sophomore dance rolled around, I didn't go with Sharon. I was asked by Samantha Beesley, a greasy-haired brunette, a real noodle of a girl. I said 'yes' right away, before I had time to think about it.

'You're going with Samantha?' Smiths said to me at lunch.

'Yes,' I said. 'Sadly, yes.'

Smiths bit deep into his peanut-butter-and-tofu sandwich. 'I just don't get it. Why wouldn't you just ask Sharon, like a normal guy? I even think she might be into you.'

I bit into a section of my orange. 'I thought about it, Smiths--I really did. Claude Reeves beat me to it, man.'

'Well, you're a fool,' Smiths told me. 'Timing is everything. You've got to go right out and grab a woman or she'll slip away.'

'At least I've got Sandra,' I said.

Smiths looked at me as if I belonged in a sanitarium.

'I sure do dislike that Claude, though. . .'

Chilly Debby departs

I awoke to find I'd coated my pillow in drool. The harsh light of my room glared into my eyes, quickly giving rise to a headache that would last all day.

'Sleep well?' my father wondered from the hall.

'Wonderfully,' said I. 'When is Chilly Debby visiting?'

'You slept through the visit,' said he.

'I may be a heavy sleeper,' said I, 'but this is ridiculous.'

'Of course,' clarified he, 'she only stayed for an hour.'

'An hour? That's ridiculous. She lives in Houston.' Even my relief that I would not have to spend endless hours in the same room as Chilly Debby was, admittedly, a bit dampened by the insult.

Mona, our cat, wandered into the room, swishing her furry white tail. 'Chilly Debby has her ways,' she seemed to say, 'Chilly Debby has her ways.'

The scene

'Hello, Sharon.'

'Hello, Alfie.'

'I've been fantasizing about you.'

'I've been fantasizing about you, too.'

I approach her slowly. I've been smoking a cigar in the shadows of my office. I am Alfie Norton, private eye.

'You look really handsome in that fedora,' Sharon says.

'You look sexy in those heels,' I say.

I blow the smoke casually into the shadowy room. Everything is silent. And then. . .

Desire

Every day when I came home from school, I sat in my room and desired Sharon. I would imagine that we were in a basement, crowded onto a loveseat, watching an old thriller. Then, without warning, Sharon would take my warm hand in hers; I would reach over and run my fingers slowly through her silky hair; and we'd lean closer, closer, finally pulling together for a passionate kiss. She would place her hand at the back of my head and pull me closer, as if she were feeding and could not get enough. Afterwards, we'd discuss biology and chemistry and the history of Western thought, and. . .

Then I'd scold myself: 'God, Alfie. . .Even your fantasies are nerdy.' And, of course, they could never come true. A little, wiry, greasy-haired geek like me could never hope to lock lips with a beautiful woman with silky auburn hair. Beautiful women with silky auburn hair liked the captain of the football team, other assorted Hercules-types, and billionaires. Then I'd realize I had been drooling on my biology homework, with my right hand clutching a ball of Play-Doh so hard that it was squeezing through the cracks of my fingers. My grades were starting to slip; I'd better forget Sharon until summer. Then I'd call her.

The visit

'Alfie,' my mother said, 'stop reading The Fountainhead and do your math homework!' I looked up from my perch at the window, dazed. 'And, by the way,' continued she, 'Chilly Debby is coming to visit.'

A deep shudder ran down the length of my spine, but I kept a calm exterior. 'Is that right,' said I, 'is that right.'

'Um. . .yes. She's coming in May, with Cousin Dirk.'

'I'll remember to come down with the flu, then,' said I.

Mother stopped short. 'What's wrong with Chilly Debby?'.

'She doesn't like Oasis,' said I, 'and her eyes are frosted with. . .' (a pause for drama) '. . .the Winter of the Soul.'

'You're silly,' Mother said, and left the room.

I returned to my book, where I had seen visions of Sharon's mane in every word. Now my mind had frozen stiff, like a shallow pond in the cold of December. There would be no rest on this night.

Sharon and Alfie

'Hello, Sharon,' said I, staring at her lush auburn hair and glossy lips.

'Oh, Alfie!' said she. 'You said 'hi' back! I'm so relieved; I was so worried as popular a boy as you would simply ignore me.'

Inside, I screamed, 'Earth to Sharon! Earth to Sharon! You are the most beautiful, most widely-admired girl in the tenth grade, and I am a total reject!' Outside, I said calmly, 'Indeed.'

'So, Alfie,' she crooned, leaning close and breathing her hot breath against my exposed neck, 'do you know you're so attractive, I can hardly resist myself?'

'Is that so?' said I.

'Yes, Alford--yes!' said she.

Now my world started to spin. 'Uh, hold on, Sharon. . .let me get my inhaler,' said I, teetering.

'Actually,' said she, 'on second thought, I have a math class to get to.'

By this time I had passed out and was lying sprawled on the stone floor of the hallway, mouth open. But I was to return. . .

Girls

I was still awkward with girls. On the rare occasions when a nice-looking one happened to look at me--and perhaps even smile--I generally managed to prove myself a geek pretty quickly. My growth spurt, I noticed, had lately given me more opportunities to exercise my nerdiness. Sharon, a beautiful, popular girl with auburn hair, even said 'hi' to me once in the hall.