The 8x10 of Darcy O'Dell Ch. 01

Patty turned down my initial request for a date but suggested I come to a party her friends were having the next weekend. There was major flirting and touching. I pursued her for weeks, never getting any further than a few feels above the waist. Then she started cancelling our plans more frequently. When she used the excuse of having to do her laundry to break a date, I finally got the message. I found out the ex she was trying to make jealous was let back in from the doghouse—and into her bed. I got a full portion of the sour dish I had fed to Mink.

* * *

It had been about two months since I'd last seen Mink when I spied her from the back as I walked into Belmont. She was part of a group engrossed in a rowdy card game. I felt embarrassed and guilty; I slipped out to the side porch. It caught me off guard when she appeared a few minutes later.

"Jeff, you don't have to hide from me. I'm not mad." She walked up and took my hand. "We're young, still finding our way around. Those relationships can't be expected to last forever. Our time together was special, and I'm glad we had it. The sex was... like I was on another planet."

That got us both laughing.

"Seriously, I'm so much more confident about myself after spending time with you. You'll never know how good that was for me."

I felt myself spinning emotionally. Was it wrong that I wanted to bend her over the porch railing and visit that other planet?

"Jeff, the guys told me about your flameout with Patty. That's why I'm glad you're here. I have something for you."

She put a folded slip of paper in my pocket.

"What's that?"

"It's my friend Valerie's phone number. Call her, I know she'd like that."

I was dumbfounded.

"Seriously, call her. Not that I wouldn't want to jump you myself. I know we'd still have the same old spark in bed, but it wouldn't be good for the soul. I hope you understand. Take care."

We shared a good-bye kiss. That was the last time we saw Mink at Belmont.

* * *

I took me a while, but I eventually called Valerie. She asked me if I wanted to come over that night. I grabbed a pencil and wrote down her address.

We were only together for a month or so, not as long as I was with Mink. Valerie wasn't quite as good in bed, but she was definitely kinkier. She was the opposite body type from Mink; let's call it curvy. Biggest boobs I'd seen at the time—big everything, actually. She introduced me to the pleasures of tit fucking, and I was hooked for life. Valerie also had a surprisingly dry wit that was never on display when she was at Belmont—who knew? We parted on good terms.

I realized then that Steven's relationships with women were a lot more nuanced than merely scoring as often as he could. He knew how to sense which of them had other qualities besides their looks or body, particularly if they had a smoldering sexuality hidden by an otherwise unremarkable exterior. And somehow they didn't end up hating him afterwards, once he had moved on.

I'm sure he taught them a lot about how to be good lovers in bed, especially Mink. On the other hand, maybe Steven learned a few things himself from Valerie—I sure did.

PART 4: So What about Darcy?

But I digress... after all, this tale isn't "The 8 x 10 of Melodie 'Mink' Markham," is it? Where does Darcy O'Dell come into the picture, so to speak? Yes, you're right, enough background. Let's get to the main story. Later that year, after I had started my senior year at college.

The day Darcy O'Dell came into our lives was a typical Saturday afternoon of shopping and hanging out in the Old Town district: Steven and I, plus another friend, Tim. Old Town had been a "seen better days" commercial area for years but was now the cool place to hang out. All sorts of new shops, eateries, and clubs.

There was a remarkable lack of national chain stores or restaurants there at the time. Sanger-Harris, a venerable high-end regional department store, had barely made it through the lean years but was thriving now. Our favorite record store had relocated to Old Town. We could easily spend an hour or more browsing through the bins and chatting with the owners about endless record nerd stuff. That afternoon Steven had gotten bored and excused himself. He said he'd meet us in front of the store once we got through. Twenty minutes later Tim and I stepped outside with our purchases, and he was nowhere to be seen.

I volunteered to look around on that side of the street; Tim took the other. I knew Steven liked to go into dress shops and other female-centric stores to chat up the employees and customers. I started with the clothing boutique two doors down: Dress Me Up.

I had always been intrigued by their window displays, wistfully thinking about having a girlfriend who would be wearing things like that: an eclectic mix of funky, daring, trendy, retro, and exotic. In addition to clothing they had a selection of candles, incense, imported fabrics, essential oils, jewelry, and accessories—very hip compared to Sanger-Harris.

I heard Steven's distinctive laughter coming from the store, so I went in. Sure enough he was charming a female employee; I could only see her from the back. I watched another woman—probably the owner—about to deliver a "get back to work" command to the object of Steven's attention. He sensed her approach and made a clever move.

"Jeff, I'd like you to meet Anna. She's the owner and creative mind behind Dress Me Up."

"Nice to meet you, Anna. I've always been intrigued by your window displays. My first time in the store today. Fascinating selection of merchandise. You wear it well," I said, gesturing to her outfit.

The praise threw her off, long enough for another customer to call for help from the other side of the shop.

"And, Jeff, this is Darcy."

She turned and flashed a sincere smile. In an instant I realized thatthis was my dream girlfriend: the window mannequin come to life, wearing the colorful clothes and smelling of the earthy essential oils they sold. I said hello and melted inside, but I remembered the "Steven's First Pick Rule." He made his move.

"Darcy, why don't you come hang out with us in City Park tomorrow. Bring a few of your friends. We're usually there around 1:00, near the band shell. At the top of the hill, under the trees."

"I know where that is, but I can't come tomorrow. Maybe next Sunday."

Steven pulled out one of his business cards. He was the first person I knew to have his own printed up. They had an unusual design, featuring his boldly colored original artwork.

"Here, Darcy. I wrote the time and place on the back. I hope you and your friends can make it. But only if you feel like it. No pressure."

Back outside I asked Steven if he got her phone number.

"No, I'll get it Sunday. If she doesn't show, I can come back here and get it. Part of my strategy with women: don't seem overeager when you first meet them. Interested but not desperate.

"By the way, Jeff, that was very smooth. The way you handled Anna. Couldn't have done it better myself. You're learning from the master."

"Steven, I actually meant what I said. That's why it came naturally."

He gave me a shrug as we headed back to get Tim.

* * *

The following Sunday, City Park. Our crowd included Steven, Tim, me, plus several other guys and girlfriends from Belmont—and Artie and his black dogs, of course. I'm glad it wasn't all dudes. We wanted to show Darcy and her friends we weren't a bunch of dorks who couldn't attract women.

My heart leapt when I saw Darcy walking toward us with two other girls. Steven was in his element introducing everyone to the newcomers. It was Connie, Darcy's older sister, whom she lived with, plus Darcy's friend Brenda. Connie wasn't as pretty or friendly as her sister. She had a no-show boyfriend who had insisted on watching baseball that afternoon. Brenda was more overtly sexual than either of the O'Dell sisters.

Darcy's outfit was toned down a little from what she had been wearing at Dress Me Up. More toward a weekend casual style from a department store, but she looked great. I noticed several distinctive accessories, probably from her shop. I complimented her the first chance I got.

"Oh thank you, Jeff. I'm glad you notice things like that. Not everything's from the store. Sometimes I like to wear something else on my days off, but I've always got a few Dress Me Up things on. Like my necklace. And my sandals. And my bracelet."

She held her wrist up so I could get a better look. "Isn't it nice?"

I took her hand gently and inspected the bracelet, sighing with pleasure inside when my fingers touched her soft skin for the first time.

"Beautiful. You have excellent taste, Darcy."

"Thanks, Jeff. Tell your girlfriends to come by the store," she said, giving me a wink. I hated to let her hand go, but Steven swooped in and took over.

* * *

Tim was the photographer of our group. I think he camped out overnight at the registrar's office when the school began offering photography courses to make sure he got in. He had his dad's old 35mm Leica camera that looked beat-up but took excellent pictures, particularly after he learned how to use it. He and the Leica were inseparable.

Tim was taking pictures that day; I remember when he did the close-up of Darcy. I was sitting next to her on the grass and talking, one of the few times that Steven wasn't all over her. He crouched down in front of Darcy; she smiled and pushed her sunglasses up on her head. Focus. Click.

We played Frisbee, smoked some pot, and took nips of cheap wine we had hidden inside lemonade jugs. Hotdog carts and snack bars were standing by when the munchies hit. About two hours later Connie said it was time to go; she had to study.

"Where's Brenda?" Darcy asked, looking around.

"She was headed to the ice cream stand. I just came back from that direction. I'll go get her." I trotted over to where Brenda was; I saw her starting to walk away with her ice cream. "Brenda, they're ready to go. Connie has to study."

"Thanks for coming to get me. I was ready to wander off to the botanical gardens over there."

"What kind of ice cream is that?"

"It's called candy cane. Vanilla with chunks of peppermint. Here, have a taste."

She held up a spoonful to my mouth. I was surprised at the intimacy of her feeding me a bite like she did; we had barely said a dozen words to each other in the two hours since I met her. She had something to tell me.

"Jeff, I see the way you look at Darcy. If you want her, you're going to have to step up and fight for her." That caught me by surprise.

"It's easy to be taken in by Steven's looks and charm, but I know his type. She probably thinks she can tame him, make him settle down with one woman. Your job is to convince her otherwise.

"And let me be honest and save you the trouble of hitting on me. You're not my type. Nor do I want to be anyone's consolation prize."

"Whatis your type, Brenda?" The conversation had become alot more serious than I expected.

"Bad boys. You're way too nice for me. Maybe I'll grow out of it someday. Once I get disappointed by them too many times. We'll see."

"I appreciate your being direct, Brenda. You've given me something to think about. Thanks for the taste of your ice cream."

As we returned, Steven was facing Darcy, holding both of her hands. She leaned up to kiss him; they went into a full embrace. I saw her reach into her purse and tear a deposit slip out of her checkbook and hand it to him. He looked at it and promised to call her soon. My heart sank more than a little.

PART 5: In the Dark(room)

The next Friday Tim said he'd finished shooting the rolls that had the City Park pictures on them and had developed the negatives. He wanted to print them and needed some help. A group of us slipped into the campus darkroom late Saturday night with plenty of beer.

Tim pulled out the proof sheets he had made and slapped them on the light table. He got a grease pencil and crossed out the duds and circled the ones he wanted to enlarge.

"Everyone pick one that they want a blow-up of. Just one."

I took the magnifying glass from him and leaned over the light table. The "day at the park" images were lined up on the proof sheets. Darcy was in several of them, most with Steven, but my eye was drawn to the close-up Tim had taken. There was no hesitation—I wanted that one.

He gave me a raised eyebrow look. I pointed to his marks on the proof sheet. "Looks like you're making one for yourself, too. Right?"

Tim sighed and addressed everyone in the room.

"Should I make an enlargement of this Darcy O'Dell close-up foreverybody at Belmont to whack off to? Oh, everybody except Steven, since he has the real thing."

That brought me back to earth quickly. That night was Steven's first date with Darcy.

We pitched in as Tim put the negatives in the enlarger and started exposing the prints. He barked orders at us as we set up an assembly line in the eerie red glow of the darkroom. Tim called me over when Darcy's negative was in the enlarger. He adjusted the knob for an 8 x 10.

"This one?"

"Yes, that's the one I want."

The double entendre hung in the air as he shook his head. Tim slipped the photo paper in the easel and hit the timer button as we both watched Darcy's image shine down on the surface for the next several seconds.

"Jeff, you're might consider not going to their wedding." The other guys thought that was hilarious.

The drum dryer in the lab, as usual, was broken. I helped pin up the prints and grabbed the hair dryer we borrowed from one of the Belmont girlfriends. While I fanned the prints with the hair dryer, I noticed something about all the girls in the photographs. Either they made faces at the camera, looked embarrassed, turned away, or held up their hands—except for Darcy. She was a natural: guileless, candid, and beautiful.

Things had eased off once the main lights were back on. The beer supply was dwindling. Of course Steven wasn't there in the lab that night. He was probably undressing Darcy right then while the rest of us were drooling over photographs of her. What a bunch of losers.

You may not believe me, but I never literally tossed off to her photo. But I often fantasized about sleeping with Darcy (fucking seemed like too crude a term for her). Many a night my hands slipped under the sheets to pleasure myself, pretending Darcy was in bed with me. I didn't need to look at her picture that much since she was always around a lot, but I always had it for the times she wasn't.

* * *

Steven dated Darcy exclusively throughout the school year. She never seemed like the type that would normally hang out with us. She drank a little but never smoked pot. And never to excess, a mild giddiness at most. Profanity or sarcasm weren't her thing, yet she didn't seem to mind others doing it. After a while I noticed that she served as a subtle calming force when she was there. Darcy was probably the one that was going to take Steven off the market. We were all in favor of that. Even if it wasn't one of us, at least she'd be around all the time. She eventually became the longest running girlfriend at Belmont.

Darcy was from Chicago and had that down-to-earth, middle-American beauty. She always had a mischievous twinkle in her eye and didn't take herself too seriously. Her attire was casually feminine but never sexy; she always wore a bra. I could usually identify which items she had on came from the shop: a skirt, a hair tie, socks, a scarf. She always appreciated it when I pointed them out.

When it was warm, she wore sun dresses or skirts with blouses or tank tops. She was the only girl I knew who rarely wore t-shirts or jeans. Her skirts were above the knee, but she never flashed her panties. She was good at keeping that hidden, even with the horseplay during card games at Belmont with all of us sitting on the floor.

Darcy was polite and friendly to all, sweet but never flirty—like a female cousin you like to hang out with. I can't imagine I was the only one who had a crush on her. I settled into an acceptance of the situation, but I allowed myself to think she treated me with an extra bit of fondness.

Steven had a room in the back, so I never had to hear Darcy getting a good seeing-to from him. Once his door closed I'd use the downstairs bathroom to avoid going near there. I didn't want to end up slumped down on the floor outside his room, felled by a debilitating attack of jealousy, forced to listen to her moans of ecstasy.

PART 6: Brenda Was Right (1982)

It was springtime the following year. We didn't notice at first, but I finally asked if anyone had seen Darcy lately. Steven gave some vague excuses: she's studying, she's with her family, etc. Then we found out the truth. He walked in one night while we were engrossed in a board game.

"Guys, I'd like you to meet Camille."

The room fell silent. It was as if he had brought over a Martian. Any new girlfriend would be skittish around the group, but this gal must have picked up on the tension and disbelief in the room. Thought balloons popped up over the heads of everyone sitting there: "Where's Darcy?!" Sidelong glances flashed between us. Poor Camille, she never stood a chance. Steven had a steady string of other women after her, but few stayed for very long.

We all felt we had lost something when Darcy didn't come around anymore. It never occurred to me to ask Steven for her number. I always assumed he'd come to his senses and get her back. As the months wore on we realized that wasn't likely to happen.

When we went to Old Town to hang out, Steven never went into Dress Me Up, at least while he was with us. The times he wasn't, I peeked in whenever I was on that block. I never saw Darcy in there. I was too chicken to go in and ask Anna if she still worked there or knew where she had gone. And I would have felt uncomfortable going after her shortly after she had broken up with Steven. She knew the phone number at Belmont if she wanted to get in touch with anyone. And my number was listed. She knew my last name because she had an annoying habit of calling me "Hayward" instead of "Jeff." Perhaps the breakup had been problematic, and she was done with the whole lot of us.

* * *

As my graduation date approached, I knew I had a change to make in my living arrangements. I couldn't afford to keep the furnished efficiency on my own now that my parents weren't paying. I needed a roommate and a bigger unfurnished apartment. My friend Tim was a good candidate to poach from Belmont.

His photography career was starting to take off, even before he graduated: retail catalogs, corporate reports, some newspaper stuff. He insisted we call him "Timothy" now, as in "Photographs by Timothy Wayne Townshend." Which ensured that the hated "Timmy" was used even more often instead. He was the neatest of the bunch, and I could tell he was tiring of the animal house chaos. He and I got along well; I was glad to get the rent covered.

My employment situation was still unsettled, so I had no furniture except a full-size mattress and platform I'd bought from a friend who was leaving town after graduation. I took a trip home to see what other furniture I could scrounge from my parents' house.

Not much as it turned out. I got a small table lamp and the trunk I'd taken to summer camp. My mother said I could have the student desk in the garage. It was an impulse purchase she had made at a flea market, but it never fit in with the rest of their furniture.

It was an old-style school desk from the early 1900s with an ornate, black wrought iron frame and a handsome hardwood desk top—and even an inkwell. An attached flip-down wooden seat was for the kid that sat in front of you.