Robert Lubrican - A Model Mother

"We just wanted to see her," said Phil. "You get to see her whenever you want, right? So share the wealth, man."

"I see her on Friday nights," I caged. "It’s not like I hang out with her."

"Well, we’re going over to Kelsey’s," said Don. "We figured if you were finished here, you might want to go."

Kelsey’s was a bar that a retired fireman had bought, and which sort of catered to the fire science crowd. They had pictures of fire scenes on the walls, and men fighting fires, and old fire engines, stuff like that. There were helmets and axes on display, and one wall that listed the names and dates when firemen were lost in our state. Lots of other people went there, but we considered it to be "our" bar.

"I don’t know," I said.

"Bring her along," said Phil. "Nobody believes us when we tell them how hot she is."

"I don’t think so," I said. "That’s not her scene."

"He knows what her scene is," sighed Don.

The doors opened and we all turned to look.

Mrs. Gaskill was with my mother.

"No way," said Jerry. "There’s two of them!"

"Oh look," said Mrs. Gaskill in a high voice. "We have an escort! "

The four of us just stared at her.

"Well," she said, her voice normal again. "Aren’t you going to make introductions, Bob?"

"Wait," said Jerry. "You mean she knows you too?" He stared at me as if I’d grown a third eye.

"Mr. Jenkins is one of my most promising students," said Mrs. Gaskill.

"Man," sighed Don. "I have to take art next year."

"Introductions?" prodded Maureen Gaskill.

I stammered out names. She fixed her eyes on Phil.

"Phil …" she said, her voice lingering.

"Yes ma’am?" he replied, suddenly on his best behavior.

"You’re the one with the enormous penis … right?" She smiled gaily.

You know how they say if you want a bully to leave you alone, stand up to him? Well, if you want a braggart to find a little humility, have a truly gorgeous woman ask him about the size of his manhood.

"Maureen," came my mother’s warning voice.

"I’m just teasing," said the gallery owner. She looked at each of the three stooges. "Your friend told us all about you."

"What the fuck?" came Phil’s not so happy voice.

"Bobby says you brag about it all the time. Is that true? Or is he lying?"

Phil turned on me with anger on his face.

"Well you do," I said.

"You’re not supposed to tell them that!" he growled.

" You would, if you were drunk," I argued.

"Well I’m not drunk," he said. "But I will be in about an hour. Thanks for nothing, Jenkins."

"So you’re going to go have a drink?" Maureen’s voice was still innocent and light.

The three stooges, like most men who are overwhelmed by a devastatingly beautiful woman, didn’t believe they really had a chance with her. Good looking women are great for a fantasy, but most men are too intimidated by them to actually try something with one. Especially when someone has torpedoed you by telling the woman you like to brag about how big your dick is. In this case all three of them thought Maureen was making fun of them. They turned to leave, as one.

"Gee, I guess we’ll just have to go find our own drink," said Maureen, sadly.

"Maureen, stop it," said my mother.

"Stop what? A drink sounds good right now. And you must be tense from posing for so long. Bob, do you have any idea where Jennifer and I could find a nice, quiet place to get a drink?"

The three stooges turned around, again as one, and stared at us.

"Don’t drag me into this," I said, holding up both hands.

It sounds like I was all cool and collected, but I wasn’t. What I was, was curious. I didn’t know Maureen Gaskill, other than the couple of times I’d seen her. But I sensed she wasn’t some ditzy, empty-headed brunette. She was a smart, sophisticated woman, and the way she was acting made it clear, to me at least, that she was playing at some game. I didn’t think she was vindictive, or mean. She wasn’t trying to "put my friends in their places." So that meant she might actually want to go out for a drink … right? I remembered my mother saying her friend was looking for a boy toy.

So I thought about how my reply could make her state her real intentions. I thought too long, though.

"I don’t need a drink," came my mother’s voice. I recognized tension in it.

"A drink will do you good," said Maureen.

"I know a place," ventured Phil. He sounded on edge. "But it’s not quiet."

"Is there dancing?" asked Maureen.

"There’s music," said Phil. "Country music."

"I know how to two-step," suggested the woman.

I don’t know about the size of his dick, but Phil had some balls. He walked up to within ten inches of Maureen Gaskill and just looked at her.

"Are you playing with us?" he asked.

She smiled, not at all uncomfortable at his closeness.

"Trust me, tiger. When I’m playing with you, you’ll know."

To say that our night at Kelsey’s was epic would not be too far from the truth. It certainly went down in the annals of the place.

It started, of course, with the three stooges (and me) bringing two certified hotties into the place. To the non-regulars, the reaction to that must have been puzzling. Four guys and two women walking into a bar doesn’t usually result in hooting and hollering and a rush of bodies whose intent is to find out as much about the two hotties as possible. Even some of the girls drifted over to see what the deal was. We have half a dozen women in the program, but after the initial stages, when romance might be investigated, they usually settle into a sisterly kind of relationship with all the guys. And the guys protect them as a brother might, too.

I heard Maureen introduce herself, to include that she owned the G gallery. Then she put her hand on my mother’s elbow and I cringed. I was about to be unmasked.

"And this is my friend, Jennifer Hart," she said. "Jennifer is in real estate."

Hart? Where had that come from? I saw my mom dart a look at me, and then she was smiling and shaking hands, being herded off to the bar. It was clear neither she nor Maureen would be buying any drinks that night.

The other change they wrought was the dance floor. Kelsey’s had a parquet dance floor, but it was from an earlier incarnation of the bar. It was covered with tables now, and nobody ever danced on it. This was not acceptable to Maureen, however, who intended to demonstrate that she did, in fact, know how to two-step. There was minor chaos as tables and chairs were moved, some ending up being stacked on top of each other. Mickey, the owner, objected at first, but he was overwhelmed. Most of our class was there, and about half of them came from rural parts of the state, and they had two-stepped a-plenty before they went to college. The urge to do it again was irresistible. Within twenty minutes Maureen and four of my classmates were holding an impromptu class in line dancing. Mickey was resigned to the temporary furor and came up with a CD of country music to dance to. He was selling a lot of drinks, so I guess he decided there was a silver lining to this particular chaotic cloud.

My mother had been surrounded, mostly by young men, since she came into the place. She was smiling a lot, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. She’d gotten knocked up at fifteen, was home-schooled until she went to real estate school, and hadn’t dated at all. She wasn’t used to the crush, and the odors, and the noise. She didn’t know what to do, or how to act. She’d been dragged there by a friend who thought it would be good for her. At least that’s what I thought.

So to give her a break, I threaded through the crowd and hooked my arm through hers.