I moped around the house and bitterly
complained the rest of the evening. My father took pity on me and, the next
morning, called me into his office for an audience.
“Ginger, if you could go to prom with anybody
at all, who would it be?”
Those of you from this area will know what I mean
when I say that back then, Paul X was probably the epitome of high school
physical fitness and manly-manliness. He was about six-four, probably 225,
muscular, long shaggy Beach Boy hair, big brown eyes, shy friendly smile. His
broad shoulders were ever so slightly rounded forward, causing him to look like
a beautiful puma about to pounce. Narrow waistline tapered into powerful piston-like
hips that served him well in his position as quarterback when he decided to make
the play instead of pass.
I was still a virgin, but just because I hadn’t
tasted the fruit didn’t mean my mouth didn’t water. Sexual tension was an
understatement, is all I’m saying.
“I guess Paul X, Daddy. Why?”
Dad picked up the heavy black telephone
receiver and began dialing a number by heart.
“His father owes me a favor. I’ll have him have
Paul take you to prom.”
Horror of horrors! A mental image of Mr. X laughing and Paul hooting and hollering at the audacity of my father demanding
Paul take me to the prom filled my mind’s eye. Next I saw Paul standing in the
center hallway at school surrounded by dozens of hangers-on, all laughing at
his animated story about the pitiful little Ginger Hamilton putting her daddy
up to asking Paul to take her to prom. The chortles and guffaws in my head made
my cheeks burn like I’d been slapped, hard.
I reached across my father’s desk and pushed
the plunger, ending the call.
“No, Daddy! You can’t ask him that! I’ll be the
laughingstock at school.” I’m sure my eyes were round with fear and anxiety.
“Are you sure? It’s really quite simple,” Dad
explained. “This will be an easy out for his father, and it’s a win-win
situation: Paul’s dad is released from his obligation, and you get Paul as a
prom date. All it’ll take is one phone call.” His hand got dangerously close to
the dial.
“I’m positive!” I thanked my father for his
offer.
Dad hadn’t tried to dismiss my situation. The fact he was willing to
trade power he held over another man just to make me happy was not lost on me.
This was a big deal to me, and he had acknowledged it in such a way that I now
realized prom held some mystical significance even to my father.
It occurred to me I could not just settle for a
warm body. If Daddy had been willing to sacrifice a boon for me to have the
prom date I wanted, that meant I needed to find a man of substance. I wasn’t
sure exactly why that was, but the
social message came through loud and clear.
That afternoon, at the dress shop I worked at,
I explained my dilemma to my best friend Darlene. She suggested the lead singer
in her fiance’s band. He and his girlfriend had recently broken up, so he was
single. He had just graduated from Marshall University, so he was sufficiently
manly (I had little in common with guys my age as far as dating interests went.
Strange as it sounds, grown men were much more accepting of my limits than high
school boys were. I was a fantastic wrestler, but a wrestling match was not my
idea of a fun way to end a date).
Darlene vouched for Phil’s good looks, sense of
humor, musical talents, etc. He sounded like a decent potential prospect. Time
was of the essence. I had Darlene finagle an invitation for me to come to that
evening’s band practice and see if he and I clicked.
The hunt was on.
[Part III tomorrow]
