Prom Date, Part III

I made certain that if we did [click], he would be moved to ask me out. 

I remember exactly what I wore that night. Cream-colored two-piece linen dress suit with dark brown stitching trim around the collar and cuffs of the jacket. Deep brown blouse that made the stitching pop. The skirt was flared in such a way that it flounced when I walked, emphasizing my hips’ cadence. Stacked heeled cream colored pumps with a thin strap around the ankle, and matching brown stitching around the strap tied together the ensemble. 

My hair was the same glorious, healthy, to-the-waist full, thick, wavy, unruly 1970s hair that every other girl had. The only difference in mine was perhaps the brilliant new-copper-penny highlights in an otherwise deep chestnut brown mane that caught and held the eye. Then there were my eyes. Always my eyes.

So I went to practice that night loaded for bear. If this man appealed to me, I would have him. I had to have him! I was both the victim and the stalker. I was at his mercy, and he at mine.

We arrived at Phil’s parents’ house and entered the basement rec room off the garage. It was cool and dim, very comfortable. The band was chatting and tuning up instruments. J McG. fooled around with his bass, while Dave McC. did whatever it was guys did to get ready to play drums. Alan S., Darlene’s future husband, tickled the electronic keyboard and every so often looked over at me and winked lecherously, as he was in on the plan.

Phil was slender, not the kind of guy I would normally be attracted to, but had nice long legs and was pleasing for his body type. He had crazy curly blonde hair, and of course, it being the mid-1970s, he wore it in an Afro. The most striking feature was his crystal blue eyes. Even in the low lighting, I could feel when his gaze fell on me. 

It fell on me frequently. In fact, it seemed like he was having trouble looking elsewhere.

I waited until I figured out where he’d be standing before I got seated. I pulled a chair across the floor and set it directly in front of his mic. This was going to be a showdown; I didn’t have time for a long, drawn-out flirtation. I needed a commitment, and I needed one soon. This would have to be a frontal attack.

[Part IV, (Conclusion) tomorrow]