Stotan! by Chris Crutcher

Author:Chris Crutcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1986-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

The dance was great. I took Devnee to the roof of the Ridpath Hotel for dinner; it has a real nice view of the city and is formal and grown-up and treats you like you are too. I don’t know whether or not it’s the best food in town, but that didn’t matter because I’d been eating peanut-butter and scrambled-egg sandwiches all week and my taste buds were decimated.

Devnee looked good. She wore this kind of simple white short formal with a medium-low-cut V-neck that had me craning my neck every time she wasn’t looking. Boy, I wish all a girl had to be was pretty, because I’d never consider anyone but her if that were true. We had a nice talk about nothing in particular and showed up at the dance early so we could watch everyone else come in.

Jeff and Colleen came about a half-hour later and that was a show-stopper. Something about being in real civilization down at Stanford hadn’t hurt Colleen a bit. She just flat looked classy, and about ten years older than any of us except Jeff, who was decked out in his Marine Corps dress blues with the high collar and bright red stripe down the side of the pants. I was almost afraid to approach them; they looked like the King and Queen of Spokane.

And then Serbousek. You had to be somewhere near the door or outside to really appreciate Lion’s entrance. And you’d also need to know a little more about his Jeepster. This thing was new back in the fifties and was kept in immaculate condition by his dad right up until he died. Lion still keeps it in great running condition, but he’s altered its appearance considerably. Two years ago, in his World War II surrealistic period, Lion turned his Jeepster into a German WWI fighter plane. It’s bright red with an Iron Cross on each door, and he has what appears to be a machine gun mounted on a tripod just behind the seat. There is also a winch on the front, should he nose-dive into any ditches. Anyway, when the Jeepster is in full dress, with the machine gun mounted and all, like on the night of the Christmas dance, Lion wears this hideous old floor-length fur coat and cloth WWI pilot’s helmet, complete with goggles and a long scarf around his neck that whips along behind him in the wind.

He pulled up in front of the Sheraton, leaped over the door, danced around the Jeepster to take his date’s hand—Marley Sharp is her name—and brought her to the ground as if he were helping her out of a stagecoach. He kissed the back of her hand lightly, then led her just inside the door, asked her to wait right there, my dear, and strode back to his craft. He waved to the crowd, flipped the scarf once around his neck and taxied down the runway toward the parking lot. In seconds he was back, minus the coat and helmet, looking spiffy as they come in a burgundy tux with a full-ruffled front and cuffs.

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