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From: "Rev. Cotton Mather" <revcottonmather@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Hard Promise, Chap. 6/14 (rom mf)
Date: Fri, 21 Jun 2002 19:10:03 -0400
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Welcome to the Church of The Right Reverend Cotton Mather.  This story
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(Copyright 2001, Rev. Cotton Mather)

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RevCottonMather@hotmail.com

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HARD PROMISE
Rev. Cotton Mather



- 6 -


Two weeks later I was going to eat dinner with Melissa, her little
sister Megan, and her parents at the Samuelson house.  All week long
Missy was coaching me about her parents, desperately wanting me to make
a good first impression.  I was pretty desperate, too.  I was having
nightmares about dribbling ice cream down the front of my suit, or
sneezing a big goober out all over the table, or some such other
calamity during dinner with her parents.  I was nervous as hell about
it, but no matter how bad it got for me, I knew it was worse for
Melissa.

She was getting a lot of flak from her parents about bringing a boy
to dinner, and her sister was incessant in her taunting.  For an
11-year-old (never a good age anyway, in my book), Megan seemed to be
particularly annoying and spiteful, and I hadn't even met her yet.

"Missy," I finally said in exasperation, "you're 15 years old.  What
do they want to do, keep you in a convent until you're 21?"

"Probably," she muttered.  We were in the library, having gotten
passes out of our respective study halls so we could be together for
a little while.  "But until I can talk some sense into their thick
heads, we've got to do it this way.  So lighten up, Raymond."

We had only been seeing each other for a couple of months, but I knew
when she called me Raymond, that I had better pay attention.  Who
says a 16-year-old hormonally charged jock couldn't learn anything?

"Remember.  With my dad, a firm handshake is necessary, but don't
squeeze so hard you crush his fingers.  Look him in the eye when
you're shaking his hand, but not in a challenging way.  Don't disagree
with him if he says something you think is wrong; just keep your mouth
shut.  I know it isn't right, but just do it, for my sake, okay?"  She
looked at me with those big blue eyes, her head down so she was
looking askance through her eyelashes.  Who could resist?

"Okay, I've got it.  Meek and mild, that's me.  Agreeable right down
to my shoes."

"And don't let Megan get on your nerves.  She will try, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but really, how much trouble can an 11-year-old really
be?"

"Hoo, boy, do you have a lot to learn," she said.




So there I was that Friday night, driving in my dad's car over to
Melissa's house for dinner with her family.  I had a fresh haircut, I
was showered and shaved, and so nervous I thought I'd sweat right
through my suit coat.  I kept on wiping my sweaty palms on my pants,
vainly trying to will myself to calm down.  I managed to park in her
driveway without knocking down any trees, or driving over any rose
bushes, which, considering my mental state, was an accomplishment.  I
knocked on the door, half hoping they had forgotten about this and had
gone out somewhere.  I was relieved when the door opened and Missy was
there.  She was dressed in a simple black sweater with gray pants.
There was a fine gold chain with a small pearl pendant around her neck.
She had curled her blonde hair so that it lay on her shoulders, soft
and lustrous.  She had never looked lovelier.

"Pow," I said, gazing at her in awe.

She blushed, shook her head, and dragged me into the house by my arm.
She looked around quickly, then reached up and gave me a quick peck
on the lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

"Take it easy, Ray.  You look like you're walking to your own execution.
It's only dinner," she said with a bit of a smirk.

She led me into the living room.  Her father stood up and strode over
to us.

"Daddy, I would like you to meet Ray Kennedy.  Ray, this is my father."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Samuelson," I said as I held out my hand.

"Ray," he acknowledged, as he grasped my hand and shook it.  'Melissa
has been telling us about you."

"Only the good parts, I hope," I said.  I glanced at Missy, but she
seemed fairly calm, not really nervous at all.  Maybe, I thought, things
will go okay after all.

"Sit down for a moment, Ray," said Mr. Samuelson.  "Dinner will be ready
in a few minutes.  Melissa, would you like to offer your guest something
to drink?"

She jumped slightly, caught by surprise, and asked what I would like.

"Uh, just water is fine with me, thanks," I said.

"I'll take a glass also, please, Melissa," said her father.  He turned
his attention back to me.  "So, Melissa tells me you are in the 11th
grade."

For the next half hour he grilled me on school, my grades, football and
basketball and baseball, my college choices, my career choices, and a
dozen other subjects.  About the only thing he didn't ask me was my hat
size.  By the time he was done, I felt like I had been wrung out and
hung up to dry.  Missy's mother dropped it briefly to be introduced,
and then she hustled back toward the kitchen to finish preparing dinner.
Missy sat by me on the couch when she was not needed in the kitchen,
which probably tempered her dad's questioning somewhat.  I was grateful
for her presence.  There was still no sign of her sister Megan.

Finally, Mrs. Samuelson announced that dinner was ready to be served.
We all stood up, and Mrs. Samuelson ushered us out of the living room
and into their dining room.  There were only four places set at the
table.

"Oh, by the way," said Mrs. Samuelson, "Megan is eating dinner at Ivy's
house tonight.  She'll be home at about 7:30."

We sat down, and Mr. Samuelson said grace, and we started passing food
around the table.  The conversation became lighter as we ate, now that
he ice had been broken, and I started to relax a little.  Missy gave me
a quick secret smile as she passed the vegetables.

Mrs. Samuelson was a good cook, and I was effusive in my compliments.
She tried to pass it all off as a normal Friday ritual for them, but I
thought she looked pleased with my comments.  Mr. Samuelson looked on,
all seriousness, but I think he was a bit amused.  The good news, in my
opinion, is that I made it through dinner without sneezing out a big
goober all over the table.  I took it as a small victory over my
nightmares.

After dinner we wandered into the family room for coffee and dessert.
I heard the front door open and a loud voice called out, "I'm home!"
The door slammed, and we heard the sound of feet pounding up the stairs.

Mrs. Samuelson got up and went to the bottom of the stairs and called
up, "Hi, dear.  Come down and meet Melissa's friend from school."

The feet came pounding back down the stairs, and a small, thin and
gangly dark-haired girl walked into the family room.

Mrs. Samuelson introduced us.  "Megan, this is Ray.  Ray, meet
Melissa's younger sister, Megan."

I said hello to her, but she just stared at me without saying anything.

"Megan?  What do you say?" asked Mrs. Samuelson.

"Did you kiss her yet?" Megan asked sarcastically.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"I said, did you kiss her yet?" she repeated.  "Or should I use smaller
words for you?  You don't look all that bright."

"Megan, you are such a brat!" cried Melissa.

"Oh, did I hit home?" said Megan.  She sashayed over to sit on the floor
by the fireplace.  "Or are you just too much of a Little Miss Perfect to
sully your lips with someone else's germs?"

"Mother!" cried Melissa.  "Can't you do something with her?"

"Megan, you must be nice to Melissa and her friend," chided Mrs.
Samuelson.

"Oh, all right, I'll be nice," she sulked.  "I always have to be nice
'cause Missy is always so perfect.  'Why can't you be like Missy?'
I don't WANT to be like Missy.  I am myself.  I'll NEVER be like
Missy."  She looked around the room, daring anybody to disagree with
her.  "So, Ray, what do you do?  You look like a jock.  What do you
play?"

"Ummm...well, I was on the varsity football team, and I'm on the
basketball team, and then in the spring I'll probably play baseball..."

"I play soccer," Megan interrupted.  "None of those other sports
interest me.  Have you ever played soccer?"

"Well," I said hesitantly, "I played for a couple of years, but I
wasn't real good at a game I couldn't pick up the ball in, so I
dropped it."

"Figures," she muttered.  "Just another brainless jock who doesn't
understand a game he can't play."

I turned to Melissa.  "What a sweet sister," I said to her.  "I think
I know now why there are only two kids in this family."

Mrs. Samuelson choked on her strawberry shortcake, and Mr. Samuelson
nearly spat out a mouthful of coffee.  Melissa looked as if I had
struck her.

Oh shit, I thought to myself.  I've really cooked my goose now.  I was
just about to apologize when Mr. Samuelson burst out laughing.

"By Christ, that's a great comeback, Ray," he said, still chuckling.
"Megan, I don't think he is quite as brainless as you think he is.  And
he's right, you have been a brat.  It's past time you apologized to Ray
and to Melissa for your behavior."

Megan looked sullen.  Finally she said, "Okay.  You're right.  I
apologize.  I'm sorry you're a brainless jock."  She stood and walked
out of the room and up the stairs.  We heard a door slam.

Mrs. Samuelson turned to me and said, "I am so sorry for that, Ray.
Megan, I'm afraid, is quite headstrong.  I'll go talk to her."

"No, no, please," I said.  "Don't go up there and make matters worse
on my account.  I was out of line, and I apologize to both of you, Mr.
and Mrs. Samuelson, and I will be happy to personally apologize to
Megan, too."

"Sit down, Ray, and stop talking nonsense," said Mr. Samuelson.
"Megan deserved it, and she's going to have to accept the consequences
of letting her mouth run.  Linda will handle her, and I will have a
little chat with her, but you have nothing to apologize to her for.
Now, tell me about this Snowflake Dance that Melissa has been bending
our ears about."




An hour later, I felt like I had been through a negotiating session with
Yasser Arafat.  I was exhausted from the experience of dinner with the
Samuelsons, but by the end of the evening both Missy and I felt very
good about how it all went.  Her parents had accepted me, and Missy
could stay out until 2:00 AM the night of the Snowflake Dance.  It
wasn't perfect, but it was a lot more than Missy ever expected her
father to agree to.  I said good night to her folks, and she walked me
to her front door.  We stepped through, and she softly closed the door
behind her, then wrapped her arms around my neck and stretched up to
give me a soft, sensuous kiss.  I hugged her tight to me, glad the
ordeal was over, and playfully grabbed her earlobe between my teeth.

"Careful," she whispered huskily.  "Don't start something you won't be
able to finish tonight."  She rubbed her hips against me then, and
kissed me hard, then let go and turned to go back in.  She turned with
her hand on the doorknob and said, "Way to go tonight, Ray.  You were
a star."

"Just trying to come through for my Missy girl," I said, the very
picture of modesty.

"Well, you did come through, but I think it was for both of us," she
said with a smile.  "Tomorrow at Fabrice's?"

A grin traced itself across my face.  "Tomorrow it is," I said.



(Continued in Chapter 7)





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