In Spring of 1968 my older brother started dating Ava Farrell. The blonde cheerleader was best friend’s with my girlfriend, Kyla Rolla. My next door neighbor was going out with Brenda Estes, another cheerleader at my hometown’s high school. Chuckie Manzi, my older brother, and I were going to all-boy Catholic schools. We wore thick black glasses and considered ourselves lucky to be with such beautiful girls, however this miracle was not enough for two of the six.
After the Junior Prom my older brother drove us to the Embers, a dimly-lit steakhouse across the Fore River from the Quincy Shipyards. We felt very sophisticated in our pastel tuxs and gowns. The waiter served us drinks. Not one of us was over 18, the Massachusetts drinking age. I was partial to gin-tonics and Kyla liked wine. I nearly choked on a grisly steak. Kyla clapped my back and I projectiled a hunk of fat across the table into Ava’s chest. Sputum drooled over her gown.
All the boys laughed, but Ava was horrified by this assault.
“You bastard.” The blonde was holding her fork and knife, as if she wanted to poke them in my eyes.
“He didn’t do it on purpose.” My older brother was very protective. We were a close family.
“He ruined my dress.” She was showing a vicious temper. Her father had just divorced their mother.
“You’re only going to wear it once.” Soft pink wasn’t suitable for weddings, even those out of wedlock.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get my father to clean the dress for nothing.” Chuckie’s family owned a dry cleaner on the other side of the Blue Hills.
“At least someone is a gentleman.” Ava slide closer to Chuckie and like that he ditched Brenda.
The two of them made out in the back seat on the ride home. Stealing your friend’s date was considered a mortal sin and after that night I was never really close to Chuckie.
He went out with Ava most of that year. She once called to berate my brother for not giving him a ride to her house. I heard the conversation and said, “Don’t ever let a woman speak to you like that.”
“Like what?” He was still soft on her.
“Like you’re a dog.” I took the phone out of his hand and said, “Ava, tell Chuckie to catch a bus.”
I slammed the phone down and my older brother shrugged, “I just wanted to get close to her.”
“She isn’t worth it.”
Chuckie knocked her up in the winter. They had a small wedding in early May. She didn’t wear the pink dress and I wasn’t invited to the event, even though Kyla was the maid of honor. We never went all the way and broke up before her senior prom. I don’t know why, but maybe it was that I didn’t want to end up like Chuckie. His happiness with Ava faded somewhere in the 70s and mine with Kyla shines every time I have a gin-tonic.
They taste good when your 16 and even better when you’re older.
Next time I see my brother, I’ll have more than one.
It’s the only way I can hold onto my youth.
ps Ava Farrell was no Ava Gardner, although my older brother thought so.