Sex and Pancakes

I met the most beautiful girl I had ever seen while on a blind date with her best friend. This was in 1985 or so. My friend Wayne had met Debbie at a local bar, and the two of them invited me to join them along with Debbie’s best friend for a sort of double date. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t remember the friend’s name. It was a perfectly decent evening, but it was Debbie who had captured my attention. I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was beautiful, confident, and very funny. I envied Wayne, but of course said nothing.

The following night I was back at the same club with another friend. We were sitting in a booth, drinking and watching the girls dance, when I heard a familiar voice calling my name from the booth behind me. It was Debbie. She was alone, so I asked her to join us. We talked and laughed and drank. It turned out she was supposed to be meeting Wayne that night, but he had stood her up. A few drinks later she asked me if I wanted to go on another date sometime. I said, “Sure, I’ll call Wayne and see if he’s available.” She stopped me and said, “I’m not asking Wayne on a date, silly — I’m asking you.” I of course said “Yes!” in what could not have been the calmest, coolest voice she had ever heard. We danced once or twice after that and parted ways. I was giddy.

The plan was for Debbie and me to get together the following Saturday. She was entered in some sort of beauty contest that night at Electric Avenue, which was the club of choice at the time, and she asked if I’d like to take her there. I picked her up in my dad’s car, a Pontiac Grand Prix I’d borrowed while mine was in the shop. She lived in a small apartment above an somehow even smaller appliance repair shop. Her driveway emptied onto a steep street. The Grand Prix had a manual transmission, so I would have to set the emergency brake to keep the car from rolling away. Debbie was wearing the sort of blue dress that people write songs about, and she looked fantastic. When we walked arm-in-arm into the club I was feeling pretty good, but when she took 2nd place in the beauty contest I suddenly knew what it was like to be out with the hottest - well, second hottest, I guess - girl in the place. It felt good, I must admit. We celebrated with a few shots and danced a bit. I was having a wonderful time.

After a bathroom break I returned to find some guy sitting in my chair and chatting Debbie up. He was a big dude, so I just stood there awkwardly, trying to figure out how to handle the situation without injury. Sensing my concern, Debbie simply nodded toward me and said to the guy, “You’ll have to move — a real man was already sitting here.” She said it with a straight face, and the look of disbelief he gave me was priceless, but he got up and left. Debbie then kissed me hard and made sure he saw it. I had no choice but to fall in love with her immediately.

We closed down the club and went back to her place. I was too drunk to drive, but did anyway. I pulled up to her house, parked the car, and we hurried inside, where I quickly removed that blue dress. There was sex then. The kind that takes you by surprise — the kind you almost don’t believe is happening at the time. You know the kind, I hope. Eventually, exhausted and still a bit drunk, we slept.

What seemed like only minutes later I awoke to the sound of someone pounding at the door. I looked over at Debbie, and it was obvious she wasn’t about to do anything about it, so I lurched out of her unfamiliar bed only to discover I couldn’t find my clothes. Naked, I grabbed the closest thing I could find; a frilly pink robe hanging on the closet door. The robe didn’t fit, was nearly see-through, and had some sort of stupid fuzzy collar. It was in this robe, red-eyed and ridiculous, that I answered the door and met Debbie’s father for the first time. I knew it was her dad because he looked me up and down, thrust out his hand, smiled, and said, “Hi, I’m Debbie’s dad — and if that’s your Grand Prix out in the street, it’s about to be towed.” I’d forgotten to set the parking brake, and the car had rolled out into the street, blocking traffic. I invited him in, grabbed my keys, and darted outside in a blur of pink hangover.

I convinced the police not to tow the car (or arrest me for my outfit) and scurried back into the apartment. By this time, Deb (I called her Deb now) was awake and sharing a few intimate details with her dad about the previous night. I wanted to die, but he just said, “Really? That’s nice. It was nice meeting you, Jack. Why don’t you two get cleaned up and stop over for breakfast? I’m making pancakes.”

Debbie and I dated for a while after that. At some point we stopped. I don’t remember why now, but the pancakes were delicious.