.38 Special came on next, and we started dancing faster, and then Mike Ghormley, a sophomore, came up and tried to cut in. He was a little guy, maybe a couple inches shorter than me and twenty pounds lighter, and he was already drunk off his ass. "I'm cutting in!", he announced.
I stared at him in amusement, although Marilyn looked nervous. "Ghormley, you're drunk!"
"But I want to dance!"
It was all I could do not to laugh in his face. I just smiled at Marilyn. "Do you want to dance with him?"
"I want to dance with you!", she laughed back.
"Sorry, Ghormley." We pulled away from him and finished the dance. By the time the song ended I was sweating and not just because the basement was like a furnace. "I think I need some air."
"Good idea!", she said with a nod. She led the way, holding my hand, and dragged me up the stairs. By now the front doors to the porch were wide open, letting the cold February air into the house and cooling things off. We went back into the formal room, and I moved to get Marilyn another mai tai.
Who would already be standing at the table but Mike Ghormley? As soon as he saw us, his face lit up. "Now we can dance!", he announced.
I looked over at Marty Adrianopolis, still on duty behind the bar. "How many of these has he had?"
He grinned back. "More than enough."
"Mike, the lady doesn't want to dance with you.", I said.
He gave me the drunk-and-puzzled look. Mike was a nice enough guy when he was sober, but he had a major superiority problem. As a sophomore, he was automatically superior to all freshmen, and therefore could order them around. I remembered that this went right on through college; as a junior he would boss around the sophomores and freshmen, as a senior, juniors would be added to the list. We generally ignored him when he was drinking. "But I want to dance with her!"
Marty was starting to look concerned. "Ghormley, you're drunk!", I said.
That got him angry! "Take that back!" I just rolled my eyes. "Take it back, I said!"
"Or what? Are you planning on fighting me?" I looked over at Marilyn, who was starting to get nervous. "Don't worry, we're not going to fight.", I whispered.
"YES! I'm challenging you!" By now half the room was staring and pretty much openly laughing at him, and Marty was inching around the table preparatory to grabbing him.
Suddenly I had an idea. I motioned for Marty to cool it, and said, "What? Like a duel?"
"Yes! I am challenging you to a duel!"
Marty slapped his head in disbelief. I smiled at Marilyn. "Ever had two men fight a duel over you before?"
"God, no!"
"Someday you'll be able to tell your grandchildren about this."
"Spare me!" Still, she smiled at me.
I turned back to Ghormley. "Okay, I accept the challenge. I get to choose weapons." Ghormley was looking very superior now. I glanced behind the bar and found everything I needed. I reached out and grabbed Joe Bradley, my fellow pledge, who was watching this all with considerable interest. Pulling him closer, I said, "Joe will be my second." I leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Run off to the kitchen and bring back the matches." He looked at me curiously, but I repeated my instructions and he ran off.
"Shots at two paces!", I announced. Ghormley looked confused at that. I smiled at Marty. "Hand me two identical shot glasses and that bottle of Southern Comfort."
He shrugged. "It's going on your bar bill."
I set the two glasses up one at each end of the table we were using as a bar, and then filled each one to the very brink with the liquor. Ghormley moved to grab his, but I waved him off. "Wait! Wait! We're not ready yet!" Bradley handed me a box of wooden kitchen matches, and everybody stared. I lit a match, and before anybody knew what I was doing, I held it to the lip of Ghormley's shot glass. The Southern Comfort began burning with a faint blue flame. I quickly lit my glass. I stepped up to the bar. "On the count of three!" Both Marty and Ghormley stared at me in disbelief, although Marty had a big smile on his face. "One! Two!..."
By now everybody watching was chanting along. "THREE!"
I grabbed my shot glass and lifted it up to my lips and swallowed it down, not even pausing to think or look at it. Ghormley was slower, and nervous. He hesitated as he brought it up to his face, and then he started worrying about his mustache, which was big and blonde and of which he was quite proud. He waited just long enough for the shot glass to get too hot to hold. He quickly set it down and started flapping his hand around. "Jesus Christ!"
I grabbed his still burning shot glass, brought it to my lips and poured it straight down, and then slammed the shot glass victoriously down to the table. Joe Bradley grabbed my hand and lifted it up. "The winner!"
I preened for a moment, and then grabbed Marilyn. I lifted her up and gave her a good hard kiss. She laughed and kissed me back.
Ghormley stared at us in disbelief. Around us people were laughing and lining up to do their own flaming shots. Marty was simply lining them up while Joe Bradley lit matches. Marty laughed at me. "You're fucking crazy!"
"Crazy about her!", I said, pointing at Marilyn. She laughed and I spun her around. "I'm crazy about you!"
Okay, by now, with two shots of Southern Comfort on top of the mai tais, I was officially lit up myself. Marilyn refused to have one herself, so she took her punch and we wandered out of the room and went out on the porch to cool off. The brisk air felt good. Several brothers and pledges came out and congratulated me on my victory. Ghormley even came out and stared at us in total disbelief. How dare a mere pledge show him up like that!
When we started to get chilly, we went back inside. That set up a round robin sort of motion - drink, dance, cool off. Around midnight or so, we wandered into the living room and sank down onto the only couch not in use. I leaned against the arm of the couch and Marilyn lay half on top of me and we began kissing.
Light was just starting to peep into the windows when I woke up. I had a warm and familiar weight on my chest, and when I cracked open an eyelid, I noticed the top of a head with curly chocolate brown hair resting on my chest. Oh, shit! We had fallen asleep on the couch, and Marilyn's buddies had left her here. I was going to have to get her home.
I was also going to have to pee. My bladder felt like it was going to burst. I tried to slide out from under Marilyn without waking her, and mostly succeeded. She murmured sleepily and went back to sleep on the couch. I wandered down the hall and used the bathroom off the kitchen. Christ, but I must have pissed for half an hour in there, and it sounded like Niagara Falls! Afterwards I looked in the mirror and was sorry I did so. I looked like a poor grade of refuse. I went into the dining room where we had set up the coat racks and found Marilyn's and my coat still hanging, although my hat was on the floor in the corner. I retrieved my car keys and headed outside.
I popped the trunk and pulled out a large duffel bag I kept in the back. This was one of my two emergency kits. Us Boy Scouts have a saying about being prepared. I kept two kits in the trunk of every car I've ever owned. The first is a tool box and it's filled with flares, jumper cables, a first aid kit, and the like. The second is a duffel bag with a complete second set of clothing, an old snowmobile suit, and an old toilet kit. If I got stranded somewhere, I was going to survive, and over the years, I've needed most of the stuff, even if only once.