Ivan Hooker drove his van into the seamier side of town, provoking mixed reactions among his passengers - - professional colleagues from the local college. Dee Bates, speech professor, exchanged a wary glance with the admissions director, Neil Newman. He dismissed it with a shrug, nudging Buck Maker, the athletic director, seated in front of him.
Buck, who believed in the direct approach, rubbed his oversized hands together, gleefully. "So, what's it gonna be, Ivan? Chinese? Italian?" He emphasized the "I" in Italian. "Or," he added, hopefully, "Go-go girls?"
Beatrice Strong, confirmed women's libber with a doctorate in English literature, leaned over Buck's shoulder. "Don't you ever think of anything but 'T' and 'A'?"
Her response was exactly what Buck had hoped for. He liked nothing more than needling Bea and others like her with his pseudo-macho, male chauvinist comments. While in truth, Buck had done more to advance the cause of women's athletics at Brandywine College in the past five years than had been achieved in its entire 110-year history.
"Sports, honey," he quipped. "That's what girls are for. Isn't that right, Effie, baby?"
Before the financial aid director, Effie Chase, could answer, Ivan swung into a parking lot filled with pick-up trucks and Ramchargers all outfitted with gun racks in the back window.
"The Freight Yard?" asked the college attorney, Justin Case. "Are you sure about this, Ivan?" The man squirmed in his seat.
"Relax, old man. Not everything is fodder for a lawsuit. We're just having lunch."
"But . . . the Freight Yard?"
T.G.I.F. Day provided reason enough for the formation of the "Lunch Bunch." This small, elite group of individuals met every Friday for food and fun. The "Bunch" was a Brandywine College tradition. Almost as revered to the participants as graduation on the knoll.
Every Friday, a member, in-turn, chose the "Mystery-Eatery-of-the-Week, handled reservations, and provided transportation. Needless to say, a fierce competition existed among the members to outdo each other. Atmosphere was nearly as important as food. Considering that the common thread among the "Bunch" was a love of food, this said a lot.
Envious campus colleagues, who waited expectantly for an invitation to join the "Bunch," watched from their cubicles as the gathering began. On the circle drive outside the administration building, the "Bunch" met at five minutes before noon. Sometimes earlier; never later.
Ivan, today's host, a handsome, unassuming man in his early fifties made one stop before the circle drive. He picked up the college attorney, Justin Case, who had an appointment that morning with the Human Resources Director one of those salivating to be part of the "Bunch."
"How's it going?" Ivan asked when Justin hopped in beside him.
"It'll get better soon," was the only comment from the taciturn lawyer.
The public relations director knew exactly what he meant. The "Bunch" often lifted his spirits. It was strange because these people almost never socialized with each other at any other time. There were friends within the group: Ivan and Justin, Nona and Effie, and Dee and Neil. Of course, the skuttlebutt hinted at something more in the latter relationship. Ivan knew better. The former Associated Press correspondent had a way of finding things out. Perhaps that's why he had been hand-picked by the college president, Jeffrey R. Jurki, to handle public relations for this small, liberal arts college that was nestled in the hills of southeastern Indiana.
As expected, his hungry colleagues were waiting impatiently for his arrival. Neil slid back door aside even before the brakes were fully applied. Leading Dee by the hand, he headed for the rear seats. A displaced New Yorker, Neil was a fixture at the college. He'd been here over fifteen years. Time and again he was passed over for promotion. Without that doctorate, he had no real future in higher education. Neil's frustration was compounded by his wife's success. Sally, a psychiatrist, had a thriving practice in the town of Brandywine, Indiana, and its surrounding counties. She wasn't about to leave her hometown. A dreamer by nature, Neil sent at least one resume out each week. From time-to-time, he even interviewed, but then Neil loved to travel at someone else's expense. In fact, he loved to do anything at someone else's expense. Everyone, but Neil, knew his fate was sealed.
Dee Bates came to Brandywine five years earlier. Much to the envy of her colleagues, she'd been inducted into the "Bunch" within weeks after her arrival. Her quick-witted retorts endeared her to her male colleagues. She credited it all to her upbringing. Dee had been sandwiched between four brothers. The middle child learns survival quickly, especially being of the opposite sex. A divorcee with two grown children, Dee had been fodder for the campus grapevine since her arrival. Because you never see Neil without her, he was high on the list of suspects, but so were Ivan, Jeff Jurki, and a couple of others. As usual, the University grapevine was way off.
Buck claimed the middle seat, allowing his football player's physique gone awry to spread out even more than usual. His comfort, however, would be short-lived because "Tweedle-Dum" and "Tweedle-Dee" were waddling toward the van.
Impatient with the pace set by the two rotund friends before her, the lithe Bea Strong out-maneuvered Dr. Nona Reeder-Sales, librarian, and Effie Chase, financial aid director. Inside the van, Bea squeezed into the back seat where she joined Neil and Dee.
Effie's disappointment was apparent when she noticed that the seat next to Neil was taken. She never missed an opportunity to get close to him. Neil was a particular favorite of hers. An honor, he would gladly give up. After all, how flattering is it to be admired by a woman who gets excited over anyone who stands up to pee?
Effie and Nona worked hard at friendship. Theirs reminded many of two lovers who held hands as a way to prevent fighting. A few months earlier, Nona put their friendship to the ultimate test when she achieved Effie's fondest dream. Nona got married. The groom wasn't a catch by the usual standards a retired sanitation worker. But to Effie, he might as well have been Paul Newman. She envied Nona's good fortune.
Before Nona's wedding, the middle-aged old maids took comfort in each other's loneliness. Publicly, however, Effie, who conducted herself like a sex kitten, professed to more ill fated love affairs than Luden had cough drops.
When Ivan pulled into traffic, Buck, whose impatience to get underway had been obvious, proudly proclaimed, "Finally! We're on our way!"
Ignoring his sarcasm, Bea opened the conversation. "Hey, guess what happened to me today?"
"Okay, I'll bite," Dee said. "What happened to you?"
"My class ran overtime!"
"NO!" resounded in unison. After all, apathy made its home on the Brandywine campus.
"Yes, really. It was the most amazing thing. A couple of students even asked questions?"
Dee interrupted. "Hell, mine ask questions? 'Will this be on the test?' 'Do I have to write this down?'"
The "Bunch" laughed, silently lamenting the truth of Dee's comments.
"No, I mean they actually asked questions related to English literature."
"Don't kid me," Buck replied. "No student ever asked a question about English literature." Again, communal laughter erupted.
"Well," Justin said with a smirk, "that surely sets a precedent."
"I think it's a first," Neil added. "Hey, Ivan, isn't that newsworthy?"
The ice had been broken. It was time to exchange gossip. There was an unspoken rule among the "Bunch" to keep each other current about the latest rumors. Buck's comment about girls and sports cued Justin's first off-color story. Nona followed with a series of dirty jokes that ended when Ivan drove up to the Freight Yard.
"I've heard about this place," Neil told Dee. "Be thankful it's day time."
Located across the street from the old roundhouse near the defunct railroad station, the Freight Yard sat in the center of the sleaziest part of town.
Brightly painted graffiti covered the run-down, brick exterior, spelling out and graphically depicting various obscenities.
Inside, it was dark. The Yard consisted of a long, narrow room with high ceilings and an unvarnished floor splattered with tobacco splashings that missed the spittoons. Obviously, someone paid off the health department.
Four pool tables, perfectly aligned, sat center stage. Along the right wall was a bar built of old railroad ties. Behind it was a mirror with a naked woman about Effie's size. More railroad ties framed booths that lined the opposite wall.
The place was crowded--with men. Men, who turned and whispered to their neighbor, in sequence, as if choreographed by Busby Berkley, when the "Bunch" walked in. Dee hesitated. "It's okay," Ivan told her. His voice was reassuring, but the environment wasn't.
An unshaven, strikebreaker type approached. "You want sumthin'?' he asked, gruffly.
"A table for eight, please." The stout librarian smiled.
The "waiter" called out to the boys at the bar. "They want a 'table for eight,'' he mocked. "Think we can accommodate 'em?"
Between catcalls and raspberries, someone shouted, "Well, I don't know. Do they have a reservation?'" Before Ivan could respond that they did, the room filled with unkind laughter.
Once more, Dee hesitated. This time, Ivan took her hand. A move that didn't go unnoticed by either Tweedle-Dum or Tweedle-Dee.
"This way," snorted the waiter.
The eyes of the regulars tracked the college professionals as they were led to a back room. Sensing Dee's apprehension, Ivan gently squeezed her hand. It was enough to make her feel safe as she hopscotched the cigar and cigarette butts and other unknown substances ground into the floor.
Their Bluto-like host or waiter or bouncer or whatever-he-was barged through the rear door held only by its top hinge. He slammed the broken door against the back wall, ushering the "Bunch" into a rear storage room. Neil asked Ivan. "Is he throwing us out?"
Bea shrugged. "We should be so lucky."
In the middle of the room, which was adjacent to the kitchen, were two four by eight sheets of quarter-inch plywood supported by carpenter's horses.
"Eight, huh? Okay. You," he pointed to Justin. "Pick up that crate. And, you, wimp," singling out Neil, "if you think you can handle it, you get that one." Bluto heaved the rest of the huge packing crates, single-handedly, setting them around the makeshift tables until there were eight.
With an exaggerated bow, he announced, "A table for eight." Sweeping a large, hairy forearm across the plywood top, Bluto knocked any loose debris onto the floor, kicking it to one side. The "Bunch" sat down.
Bluto tossed menus on the table.
"You'll havta share. I only have a few. Martha Stewart keeps takin' 'em." His laugh was even bigger than he was. The "Bunch" laughed, too, stopping when he did. "Anyone wanna drink?"
"Beer." Buck ordered, dryly.
"Yeah. Me, too," Ivan said.
"Draft or bottle?"
After their choices were settled, Bluto moved on, eyeing Dee as if to say, "What'll it be?"
"I'll have what he's having." She nodded toward Buck. Her, "Sorry, change that to iced tea," brought a scowl to Bluto's face who was forced to scratch out her original order since the pencil had no eraser, and a moan from the "Bunch." When she explained, "I have a meeting with the Dean at two-fifteen," her colleagues offered their condolences.
"Oh, hell--" Bea grumbled. "Make mine a Coke. I have a one-thirty with the old man." She nodded toward Dee. "Thanks for mentioning your appointment. Otherwise, I'd forgotten all about my 'date' with the Dean."
The menu--a mimeographed flyer with explicitly illustrated ads from a local, adult bookstore on its backside--caught everyone's attention.
"A Pink Lady, please," Effie offered, primly. Her colleagues shifted their glances from the menu to Bluto. He didn't disappoint them.
"Lis'sen, Madam," he snapped, "we don' sell no sissy drinks here. You wanna a real drink or what?"
"Humph," she sniffed. "Beer will be fine."
Bluto took the last drink order and dashed for the bar.
Neil waved the menu. "Hey, get a load of this."
The "Bunch" ogled the flyer, making one off-color comment after another. As they waited for drinks, Effie spotted a closed, swinging door just behind Dee. If anyone heard her ask, "I wonder what's in there?" No one acknowledged the question.
If nothing else could be said for the Yard, service was swift. Boomerang Bluto bounced back with their drinks before the next joke could be told.
"Your drink, Madam." He apologized, sarcastically, remembering Effie's "Pink Lady request. "Sorry, we're all outta them li'l umbrellas. Now, ladies and gents, what'll it be?"
"What do you recommend?" Bea asked.
Buck slapped his hands together. "She means," nodding at Bea, "what's today's special?"
Effie brightened. "Yes. The specialty of the house?"
"Look, Lady," he directed his comment to Effie. "We got two--booze and men. You've already passed up one." Effie giggled; the others smirked.
When burger baskets were ordered all around, Bea requested, "Well-done . . . please." Bluto shot her a look suggesting she better take it the way she got it.
The food arrived almost as quickly as the drinks. Bluto entered, balancing all eight orders on his hairy arm, then proceeded to deal out the lunches like a new deck of bicycles. "'Nother drink?" he asked.
"Sure," Ivan spoke up, "all around."
Bluto paused at Dee's elbow. "Think ya can handle 'nother iced tea or are you drivin'?"
"Don't worry about her, Buddy," Ivan smiled at Dee. "She can handle it."
Bluto cast a doubtful eye at Dee, snorted, then returned to the bar room. Effie smiled like a Cheshire Cat certain now that she knew whom Dee was sleeping with.
Ivan had scored on two points. The service was fast, and the food, surprisingly good. He accepted his colleagues' congratulations with his usual modesty.
The "Bunch" settled in, feeling less threatened by their surroundings. The nervous chatter gave way to pleasant lunchtime exchanges. Some ate, greedily; others savored their burgers. Clearly, they were having a good time.
Without warning, a burly truck driver swaggered in from the bar room, ending all conversation abruptly as each member of the "Bunch" wondered what he wanted. To their relief, he walked by without a word, pausing outside the swinging door that Effie had noticed earlier. He pushed it open with both hands, exposing the men's room.
Those facing the facility waited for the door to swing shut. It didn't. Nor did the trucker come back to close it.
The usually cool-under-fire Ivan Hooker paled. Buck's jaw literally dropped. Justin made furious notes in the black book that he always carried. With her back to the activity, Dee could only guess what was happening by watching her colleagues' reaction. Nona and Bea gasped, but not Effie. Effie stared, openly. After too long a time, Buck jumped up.
"Well, hell, if he doesn't have sense enough_"
Effie, whose eyes were riveted on the trucker, grabbed Buck's arm, pulling him back down on the crate--hard. "Don't you dare!"
Buck jumped again. Again, her hand came out.
Scowling first at Effie, he slapped her hand away. Eyeing his backside suspiciously, Buck extricated a large splinter from his behind. "Damn!" he exclaimed, painfully.
Oblivious to Buck's discomfort, Effie began reciting a play-by-play description of the action for those whose view was blocked. "He's unzipping his pants. Oh, my God," she gasped, "He's taking it out." After a long pause, she sighed. The implication was clear.
Embarrassed and shocked by the crudeness of both the trucker and Effie, everyone reacted in their own way.
Neil shouted, "Check, please!" Dee's face turned a deep shade of crimson. Nona covered her eyes, hopeful that no one noticed her fingers were well spaced. An effort was made at small talk. After all, it isn't easy to watch a colleague embarrass herself so blatantly without any clue that she is doing it. Regardless of how you feel about that person, it is a painful experience. Perhaps because in some ways, you feel the need to absorb some of the embarrassment she ought to be experiencing. The men attempted small talk. The women became very quiet. Everyone, except Effie and Nona, took an unusual interest in their food. Inspecting it closely as an effort not to look away from the table.
"Would you look at that?!" Effie went on. "Wow! He's shaking it off."
Peering through her fingers, Nona pleaded, "Effie, please." No one was quite sure what Nona wanted of Effie, but a satisfying, "Hmmmmm," spilled from the librarian's lips. "And, I thought my husband was something." Her brow furrowed. "Damn," she muttered.
Attempting to make conversation, Buck asked, "Hey, what about those Orioles?"
Justin countered, "Yeah. They're really fired up, aren't they?"
Effie's next comment stopped them all short. "Oh, hell! He's done." She nudged Nona. "Watch out," she warned. "He's headed our way."
The trucker strutted passed the makeshift table, tipped his Jack Daniels cap to the ladies, offering a wide, smile that revealed a wide gap between his front teeth. The men's room door remained open.
Rising more carefully this time, Buck looked down at Effie. "I don't care what you say. Enough is enough." He slammed the door, forgetting that it swung. The door rocked back and forth on its hinges far too long before finally coming to rest.
Neil tried valiantly to help Effie save face by offering to change seats with her in the event a similar scenario might play out.
Effie declined. "Hell, no. I've got the best seat in the house."
Obviously, Effie hoped for more. Her colleagues, on the other hand, were no longer fascinated by the Yard. They only wanted to eat and leave. "C'mon, Effie," Ivan said. "Finish your sandwich so we can get out of here. Sorry, gang, I obviously made a big mistake."
Comments ranging from, "Hey, it's not your fault," to "You didn't know," to "The food's great," helped Ivan recover from his embarrassment as the one who brought them to this place.
"Oh, don't be silly," Effie replied. "This has been fun."
Dee rolled her eyes. Bea shook her head. Nona smiled. Ivan called out, "Check, please." Meanwhile, Justin had just finished his tenth page of notes.
Service seemed to have slowed. They had called for the check twice now. Ivan wondered why the delay. Maybe there was a message here. Were they trying to tell them they didn't belong? Was this their subtle way of saying they should take their business elsewhere? His answer came too soon.
"Oh, my God!" Buck's ruddy complexion turned a ghostly white. Before he could warn anyone, men of various sizes and shapes paraded through the back room. Holding the men's room door open, they waited their turn at the urinal. There wasn't a male member of the "Bunch" dumb enough to make a move to stop the exhibition.
Effie feasted on the show. The others sat frozen in their seats, too embarrassed to move. One universal thought ran through their mindset the hell out of here fast!
Without a word, they all stood at the same time and threw their money on the table, leaving Bluto a generous tip. Buck grabbed Effie by the arm, lifting her from the crate. She resisted. So, Ivan stepped in. For a moment, it looked as if the men would drag her out kicking and screaming. Instead, Buck and Ivan walked out with Effie between them. Her feet never touched the floor.
The drive back had all the hilarity of a funeral. Effie grumbled for the first couple of miles. Finally, Nona ended it. "For God's sake, Effie. Just shut up!"
Poor Ivan who thought he had planned a lunch of good food and harmless fun dropped everyone off as usual. His colleagues, by nature, polite people, offered their customary thanks for his efforts. And, why not? It could easily been one of them whose choice had backfired. Their sympathy for his plight was genuine. Ivan appreciated their kindness. Effie, who still didn't get it, offered enthusiastic and genuine thanks.
"It was great! Let's do it again, soon!"
Her colleagues scattered quickly in various directions, heading for their respective offices. As Dee, Buck, Neil walked toward the administration building, Buck slapped Neil on the back with such force that Neil nearly lost his balance. "Man, are you lucky!" "Me? What makes you say that?" His reply was sincerely innocent.
"Hell, man. You're it. You're next week's host. You could bring sandwiches from home and you'd be an instant hit."
Neil laughed. "Well, yes. I suppose. Up is the only way we can go, isn't it?"
Dee agreed. "Exactly."
The following Friday, Effie and Nona waited until ten after twelve for the others. At 12:15 p.m., Nona placed a couple of phone calls. Apparently, the "Bunch" had called in sick. Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee drove to the nearest McDonalds'.
Traditions don't die easily. The "Lunch Bunch" succumbed after a long illness known throughout college communities as "Friday Flu."
- The End
