Michael Smith - Siblings

"Well, okay," I decided with some irritation, if Alex thought we should date around, then I was going to beat her to it. I began making a mental list of girls I knew whom I might even*want* to ask out. Girls who were intelligent and pretty. I had no use for bimbos, nor would they probably have put up with me. Several of my top possibilities were already going with someone else.

The third girl I called was Marianne McKelvey. She was in my journalism class and had just that semester begun writing for the school paper, on which I was Assistant Features Editor. She was very attractive, with a nicely proportioned body, large circular eyeglasses that made her wide gray eyes seem perpetually startled, and long, chestnut hair which she usually wore tucked into a practical knot on top of her head. She had a musical laugh and an engaging habit of biting her lower lip when she was concentrating over a typewriter. She was friendly to everyone, though not a tease, and a couple of times I had noticed her giving me sidelong, surreptitious glances in the newspaper office. I was curious about Marianne both intellectually and physically.

When I called her that evening and invited her to a drive-in movie on Saturday, I detected a moment's hesitation which I decided was just her surprise at my asking her for a date. I had never made a pass at her. She was probably wondering why I had called her up out of the blue. She sounded pleased when she accepted, though, so I thought no more about it.

Then Alex returned to tell me, rather sheepishly, that she had called up Bill Brumey, a senior on the swim team who had recently broken up with his latest cheerleader girlfriend, and asked him out. Bill was a nice enough guy, except for his apparent predilection for brainless blondes, and I gathered that he was both surprised and flattered that a girl as pretty and smart as Alex would take the initiative. But his family car was unavailable, he said; he would*love* to go out with her, but he was temporarily without wheels. Alex looked at me from under her lashes and stroked my forearm with one finger. Would I be interested in double-dating?

Her "poor little me with a problem" routine was so unsubtle, I knew she was apologizing for our earlier spat and asking for a favor at the same time. My sister always had me in the palm of her hand – sometimes literally – when she wanted something. I called Marianne and cleared the new arrangement with her; she had no objections, and even sounded a bit relieved. I wondered if perhaps she didn't quite trust my motives.

The family vehicle was a Chevy station wagon, originally Mother's car, but she seldom was able to drive it anymore. Alex and I shared it most of the time and kept it in gas and oil and tuned up. We ran most of Mother's household errands and, in return, we had almost unlimited use of the car. And a station wagon is a great car for dates and for weekend jaunts with a bunch of friends.

On Saturday afternoon, I found Alex standing in front of her closet, pondering her wardrobe.

"Don't have a thing to wear, huh?" I laughed. She grinned and swatted at me and I ducked.

"No – I just don't know how to play this. Is this a "jeans" date or a "frilly dress" date?"

I must have looked at her oddly. "This is only the drive-in, Alex. I hope you don't think I'm gonna wear a coat and tie!"

She looked at me patiently. "Michael, if I think I might end up getting cozy with Bill, if I want him to know it's okay to make a move, then I probably want to wear something we can both deal with in the back seat. But if I*don't* want to do that, I'll probably wear jeans and a long-sleeved blouse that buttons up the back – and my cast-iron bra!"

I thought I understood her calculations now – and I began to wonder what Marianne would wear. Did she also subscribe to this body-language code of dressing for dates?

By the time we left the house, Alex had carefully shaved her legs so she wouldn't have to wear hose, and she had settled on a particularly short black mini with a matching velour pullover top. And no bra. It all looked very nice above her long, creamy legs. By her own explanation, I assumed she was dressed for action.

We went by Bill's house first and found him waiting on the front steps. He jumped up and walked quickly to the car, obviously embarrassed at having to be picked up by his date and her brother. Alex hopped out of the front seat and he held the back door and climbed in after her. It dawned on me that Alex could have sat in the back to begin with, but that she wanted to give Bill's ego the opportunity to escort her from the front to the back. She always was a good applied psychologist.

Bill's hand squeezed my shoulder briefly as he leaned forward. "Hey, I really appreciate this doubling, Mike! I've thought about asking Alex for a date but she doesn't seem to go out much; I thought maybe she had a steady I didn't know about. And then she calls*me* and I don't have a car!"

"Hey, yourself," Alex chimed in. "Don't tell him, tell me! What do you mean you were 'going to call me'? Why didn't you? I think I've been insulted!" She snagged his sleeve and tugged him back beside her. "You aren't shy, are you?"

I glanced in the rear view mirror and noted that my sister had crossed her legs and allowed her skirt to ride up even farther. Then I saw Bill blush, and I suddenly realized he*was* shy! A good-looking, reasonably intelligent jock, who could have any fluffy little cheerleader he wanted! I glanced at the mirror again. Alex had hooked her arm through Bill's and was chattering away about inconsequential things to put him at ease; he looked quite happy with his situation.

I thought about it all the way to Marianne's house and concluded that Bill usually dated bimbos because he knew they were no competition for him. An attractive girl who was also very intelligent, quick-witted, and athletic – like my sister – was another matter. He wanted Alex to like him and he was a little nervous around her. I filed away that insight for further study.

Marianne met me at the door when I rang the bell. She called over her shoulder that she was leaving now, and slipped outside with a bright smile. She was wearing khaki shorts – not "short shorts" but short enough – and a cropped yellow T-shirt that ended just at the waistband, giving me brief flashes of bare midriff. Not the sort of outfit I would have expected from Marianne, somehow, but it definitely suited her.

Her thick, rich hair was uncoiled for a change; it spilled far past her shoulders and it swayed and bounced when she turned her head. The effect was astonishing and enticing. And if the way a girl dressed for a date was a guide to her mind-set, as my sister seemed to think, then this could turn out to be an interesting evening.

I casually took her hand as we walked back to the car, which also seemed to surprise her. "Thanks for agreeing to double-date," I said. "Alex and Bill would have been stuck, otherwise."

"Oh, I don't mind." She squeezed my hand. "I'm just glad you asked me out, Michael. I really never expected it."

We weren't early enough to the drive-in to get a good spot in one of the front rows, so we got the next best thing – a spot in one of the back rows. The picture was sufficiently uninteresting that we could watch for alternate five-minute segments and still follow the plot-line.

An unspoken agreement had existed between high school students and the drive-in management for as long as anyone could remember: As long as there was no screaming, drunkenness, rapine, or parent complaints, the back row was regarded as a "free fire zone."

After the first thirty minutes, with everyone in the car relaxed, I saw in the mirror that Bill was leaning back against the side window with his feet propped up and his loafers off. Alex was stretched out half on top of him, one leg hooked over his, talking almost nose to nose in a low voice. He had one arm around her shoulders and she was stroking his chest with her free hand.