Summer of 1971

"I want what you have," my best friend, Wilma, said one summer day while we were out on RJ's boat on Morse Reservoir.  "I want a man like RJ," she whispered to me, then she began listing all of his wonderful qualities. Her husband, Steve, who was just a few feet away, was not aware that his wife, the mother of his three children was desiring another man: my boyfriend.

By nurture (not nature) I was suspect of most people's motives. Hazel, my no-nosense, "not-fond-of-children" surrogate father for seven years (ages 5 to 12) had trained me well. All of my friends in high school were kept at arms' length; my secrets, my inner feelings were private; privy to no one. Silence meant safe. But Wilma was different. Underneath her overweight, unkempt appearance, "pretty" might have been lurking but I didn't see it, and she didn't care about her looks; attractiveness was not a priority for her.  Wilma's focus was on being a mother and housekeeper. I liked her immediately. She was kind and warm and affectionate and easy and safe, so after a few months, I let my guard down to RJ's neighbor from down the street, and let her into my inner sanctuary.

The summer of 1971 was all about fun: boating, skiing, Corvette road rallies, weekend adventures to other cities, picnics, parties, and Steve and Wilma were part of it all. They fit well inside our circle of five or six couples RJ and I had known and played with for five years. Wilma began to take more pride in her appearance; she lost weight, began wearing makeup, and going to a hair dresser.

Late one Saturday night after everyone had left a party at Wilma and Steve's house, I collapsed on their couch, exhausted. The day had started early with boating, skiing, mid-day picnic on the lake, and a cook out. I fell asleep but was awakened by whispering. (If you whisper in close proximity to other people, trust me, they will hear you.)  The whisperers were Wilma and RJ. Thinking nothing of it (Wilma was safe, remember?) I went back to sleep. A little while later, RJ coaxed me off the couch and into the passenger seat of his car. Still partially asleep, I leaned back in the seat and watched as RJ walked around the car to the driver's side and Wilma approached my side of the car. She leaned down and blew me kisses through the closed window and then stood up to say something to RJ. For several long seconds their conversation through whispers continued. Now, I was wide awake. All cylinders were firing. The engine was racing. The tachometer was in the red danger zone. But I kept calm and said nothing.

RJ backed out of Wilma's driveway, drove a few hundred yards down the street and pulled into his own drive. Still trying to sort through what just happened with my best friend and RJ, I got in my car, said "Goodnight, I love you,"  and left. Before I'd driven one block, I was able to assure myself that Wilma would never betray me and RJ would never cheat on me. Before I had driven two blocks, I changed my mind, drove around the block, passed both houses and found both Wilma and RJ's cars gone.  I let myself in RJ's house, brushed my teeth with his toothbrush (Ya know how nasty your mouth gets when you're really upset about something? Yeah, my mouth was like that. Nasty!) Then I sat down on his couch and waited. And waited. And waited.  And waited. At 6:00 the next morning he came home.

So here's what happened, according to RJ. Nothing! That's what. Absolutely nothing. Wilma was having marital problems, and she just needed someone to talk to, and since RJ is so wonderful in so many ways--compassionate, caring, excellent marriage counselor--he came to her aid.  He drove her around all night and they just talked. What a great guy, that RJ.

But Jim Bang was having none of it. Jim was my co-worker at RCA (I was a secretary; he worked in the mail room).  He had heard my stories about the close platonic relationship between my boyfriend and my best friend.  He didn't like it, he said. I was naive, he said. Too trusting. But, right in the middle of all of his suspicions about RJ, he told me he had a crush on me. Ah Ha! There it was. The real agenda behind him trying to convince me RJ was cheating on me.  Nope! Not buying it! RJ was just being his usual wonderful, caring self.

Then Wilma dropped me like a guilty ex-friend. No explanation. Phone calls stopped. No more dropping in at her neighbor's house. No girlfriend lunch dates. No cook out invitations. No nothing. Zip! Nada! Poof! Gone!

Jim was waiting at my desk with a big smile. "See, I told you. Who does that unless they have something to hide? Guilty people do; that's who."  So I broke up with RJ, convinced by my co-worker that he was doing the "nasty, nasty" with my best friend, and began dating Jim Bang.

But true love fights for what it wants, and it will do whatever it has to do to keep its love from leaving: flowers, cards, expensive gifts, long love letters, late-night tearful phone calls, and tap, tap, taps on its love's bedroom window at 2:00 in the morning. And then there was that uncanny coincidence over and over where true love just happens to be in the exact location where its lost love is with another man.

Then RJ said the one thing that changed everything. "I promise you this, Carol Louise. If you come back to me, this time next Christmas there will be the sound of pitter patter running through the house." So for the promise of marriage, babies and happily ever after, I went back.

Six years and counting with my middle-school crush, Christmas was months away. Still no proposal, no ring, no marriage, no babies, and I was beginning to think that happily ever after was just a fantasy, an illusion, something that did not exist. But that thought was short-lived because every girl knows that her Prince Charming is out there, somewhere, just waiting to rescue her.  Every girl does know that, don't they?