"I can't believe you told him that! It's not true!", she protested.
"Tell me one thing I lied about."
"Well, we didn't sleep together!", she said.
I wagged my finger at her. "Excuse me? You want to try that again?"
"Well, not like that!"
"I never said we did anything more than sleep. I never said anything of the sort. If he wishes to think more than that, it's his morality which is compromised, not mine, and certainly not yours.", I said.
"But he thinks I'm, well, I'm not going to say.", she said primly.
I had to laugh at that. "It gets better. I told him about the duel and that Bradley was my second. Wait until he hears from him!"
We both started laughing at that. As I expected, I found a decent steak house towards the northern end of Wolf Road, near the hotels and the road to the airport. The snow was keeping some people home, so we only had to wait about five minutes for a booth. Once seated, the hostess asked us if we wanted drinks to start off with. I glanced over at Marilyn and smiled. "Definitely."
Marilyn looked at me. "Like what?"
I chuckled and looked at the hostess. "Do you have anything sort of frozen and funny colored with an umbrella?"
She laughed loudly at that, even as Marilyn protested, and then pulled a couple of menus with drinks listed off the wall of the booth. "Here, look these over. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."
Marilyn looked the little book over in fascination; each page had a different concoction, often with a tropical theme. "What should I get?"
"Whatever you want.", I replied. "You'd probably like one of the rum drinks, though. That might be sweeter."
"And you? Are you getting one of these?", she asked.
"Gin and tonic." I reflected on my changing tastes in booze. When I had been young, back then, I had figured that being a Southerner meant I had to like bourbon, like my father did. The truth was that I don't like bourbon; it's too sour and tart for me. I can't stand Scotch either, which tastes like bad medicine. On the other hand, I do like Canadian whiskey, which is predominately rye, or Irish whiskey. Also, I discovered that more than a few bartenders can't make a sour to save their lives, but it's almost impossible to screw up a gin and tonic.
Our waitress came along and introduced herself, and asked if we were ready to order our drinks. Marilyn gave an embarrassed look, but then ordered a Bahama Mama, which looked like a blue daiquiri. The waitress looked at me. "Should I make that two?"
"God forbid! I'll have a gin and tonic. Tanqueray is fine."
She nodded and went on her way. Marilyn looked at me. "What's that? Tangerine?"
"Tanqueray. It's a brand of gin."
"You know a lot about drinking.", she said, somewhat accusatorily.
"I'm an RPI student. It's on the application. They ask how much you drink, and if the figure isn't high enough, you can't get in."
"I almost believe you! I still can't believe you drank flame last night!"
I had to grin at that. "That? That was nothing, just an old parlor trick." Marilyn has a disbelieving look in her eyes. "Okay, here's how it works. Alcohol has a very low temperature when it's burning..."
"Yes, but it was burning.", she said, interrupting me.
"Right, but it's a much lower temperature than oil or gas or other things. Anyway, there's more to it than that. Booze won't burn unless it's at least fifty percent alcohol, or 100 proof. Southern Comfort is just 100 proof, so it will burn, but just barely. As soon as I got it past my lips, it ran out of oxygen and went out. It didn't burn me at all."
"What's his name, the other guy, he was saying how hot it was."
I grinned at that. "That's because I set him up to lose. He was so drunk ... Anyway, if you remember, I lit his glass first, and then waited a few seconds before lighting mine. Then I slammed mine back so fast the shot glass didn't have a chance to warm up. Ghormley stared at his for a while, and was scared. He didn't want to burn that mustache of his. By the time he tried, he had burned his fingers."
"So why didn't your fingers burn when you picked up his glass?"
I mimed grabbing the shot glass and slamming it. "I don't think I had it in my fingers for five seconds."
"You've got an answer for everything! What if you had a mustache, too, or he didn't?"
I laughed at that. "Then I'd have had to come up with something else, wouldn't I! Maybe I should have just let you dance with him!"
Marilyn rolled her eyes at that. She asked me where I had learned about the trick, and I spun a yarn about doing it with friends in high school. In reality I learned about it at Kegs. I also knew how stupid it could be, seeing one guy burn his mustache, and another guy so drunk that when he slammed it back, he missed his mouth and spilled it down the side of his neck, which promptly caught on fire. That was a nice burn. I didn't think I would ever do it again.
Once we were served our drinks, we ordered matching surf and turfs, sirloins and lobster tails, medium rare. Marilyn offered to let me taste her drink, which I did (very sweet and cold, the better to hide the booze) and I gave her a taste of my gin and tonic, which she didn't like as much. We talked some more about booze, when she asked where the blue in her drink came from. I remembered seeing this on a TV show once, and described the process of making liqueurs. When she asked how I knew about it, I gave her the story about the RPI application again.
"Enough about me and my dissolute habits. Tell me about Marilyn Lefleur and her dissolute habits.", I said.
"I don't have any dissolute habits!", she protested.
"Really? Those are the best kind of habits. Besides, I already know you have a bunch of them."
"Like what?"
"Well, you hang around frat houses, luring young boys into duels, and then sleep with them. Sounds pretty dissolute to me."
She grinned at that. "You are never going to let me hear the end of that, are you?"
"And I told you, it will be a great story to tell your grandchildren someday. Especially if you tell it while your children are around to be properly scandalized."
"So what did your grandparents ever tell you?", she countered.
"My mom's parents made booze in the bathtub during Prohibition. Does that count?"
"I'm seeing a real trend here."
I had to laugh at that, and then nodded and agreed. I got her to start telling me about her family. I already knew it, of course but it was good to hear it from her again, fresh.
Marilyn was the oldest of nine children, and her mother was currently pregnant with number ten. Needless to say, they were Roman Catholic. She had gone to parochial schools, in her case UCA, Utica Catholic Academy, which was the girl's school in Utica. Boys went to Notre Dame, which hadn't turned coed until after she left. The next seven kids in the family were all boys, which made growing up difficult in some ways, but better in others. She never had a roommate, for one thing.
"I gather your mother didn't use the Pill."
"That's against the rules.", she replied.
"Not that pill. I mean an aspirin. That prevents pregnancy, too."