High School Honey by Bill Bowler	Table of Contents
Chapter 14: The Charcoal Pit

Honey and her mother were sitting in the dining room, just finishing dinner from the Chinese take-out place. Mrs. Miller was saying, “He was just out of the Navy and still wore his uniform, very handsome. You came along not long after that. It was the best time for your father and me. It was hard, you know. He wasn’t making much money. This was before he got into real estate.”

Mrs. Miller sighed and rubbed her temples. “We were young then. We didn’t know anything. Would you like more tea, dear?”

Mrs. Miller rose from the table and went into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Through the kitchen window, she saw a car pull up and park in the street out front.

“Shirley’s here, dear.”

Shirley came in without knocking, carrying her loose-leaf notebook and World History textbook under her arm.

“Why, hello, Shirley, nice to see you,” said Mrs. Miller. “Are you hungry? Would you like some chop suey? It’s still warm.”

“From the Big Wok in Pasquanack?”

“Yes.”

“Oh! Didn’t you hear? They found out they cook cats in that place, stray cats. It’s common in China. I would never eat food from there!”

“Well, at least have tea with us.”

“Sure,” said Shirley, sitting down with Honey and laying her books on the table.

The kettle started to whistle. Mrs. Miller poured three cups and joined the girls in the dining room.

“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you two taking such an interest in your school work. When I was your age, I didn’t understand the importance of an education. I was only interested in clothes and boys. What subject are you studying tonight?”

“World History,” said Shirley.

“Really,” said Mrs. Miller. “That sounds very interesting.”

“It is,” said Shirley. “And Mr. Bloman is an excellent teacher. He knows more about history than anyone. He has a Masters Degree from Montclair.”

“What topic are you studying now?”

“The Vietnam Conflict. It’s not a war, it’s a conflict. And it’s a clear case of good against evil and Christianity against Communism. Mr. Bloman doesn’t think it will last much longer, he’s surprised the North has held out this long.”

“I wish I had had teachers like that when I was in school.” Mrs. Miller glanced at the clock and rose from the table. “Well, I better let you two get down to work.” She stopped in the kitchen and poured a little gin in her tea, and then walked down the hall with the tea cup in one hand and the bottle in the other. Honey and Shirley heard the TV click on.

Honey opened her notebook to a blank page. “Let me see your notes.”

“I didn’t take any notes. I was too distracted. Jack wants me to stay over at his apartment next week and I was thinking about what excuse to give my mother.”

“How are things going with Jack?”

“We’re in love. He’s older, and he’s had more experience. He tells me about it so I know and we have it out of the way but, Honey, you wouldn’t believe the things he’s done. Did you know he dated Miss Ravich before she became a gym teacher when they were both students at Brookbank?”

“I can’t even imagine it.”

“Oh my God!” said Shirley, and she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ravich was evidently a nympho! I could hardly believe it myself. Jack told me all the details. I didn’t want to hear it, and when I did, I cried and wanted to break up with him, but he’s telling me for the good of our relationship. What if I found out later?”

“I guess so,” said Honey, but she didn’t know what to think. This was news about Jack the Bear and Miss Ravich.

“Is Nick still bothering you?”

“He’s a creep. He really thinks he’s God’s gift to earth. It’s turned into a huge mess, and he thinks he has some kind of hold on me.”

“Boys are such idiots. That’s why, frankly, I tend to prefer older men. They’re much more mature. And what about Flea? Do I detect something there?”

Honey smiled. “Well, he’s different.”

“I just wish I could transplant his eyelashes onto my eyes. From a distance you can’t even see my eyelashes, they’re so thin. It looks like I don’t even have eyelashes.”

“He does have beautiful eyes. He asked me for my number.”

“And?”

“I gave it to him.”

“So, we know he’s after you. That’s an established fact. Everybody knows he likes you now.”

Both girls took a sip of tea. Their blank notebooks lay open in front of them.

“We’re not getting much done, are we?” observed Shirley.

“No, we’re not.”

“I’ll bet a lot of people are at the Charcoal Pit tonight.”

“Most of our friends are probably there.”

“Except us.”

“That’s right.”

“We should be there.”

“It might be fun.”

“More fun than studying here.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“But your mother was so happy we were studying.”

“True.”

“Will she let you go?”

“Let me handle this.”

The two girls gathered up their books. Honey saw her mother’s handbag on the living room couch. She opened it quietly, slipped a twenty dollar bill out of the purse, and closed it up again. When they reached the front door, Honey called out to her mother in the TV room, “See you later, mom. We’re going to the library.”

“OK, but come ri’ home and don’ be late.” Her mother’s speech was slightly slurred.

* * *

The Charcoal Pit on Route 17 was a really fun place to go for a burger at night. It wasn’t a fast food joint but a modestly priced restaurant geared to families and teenagers. It was brightly lit, all brick with an open fireplace and, on most nights, crowded with high school kids.

Young athletes were there in white-sleeved letterman’s jackets of every color combination proclaiming every sport and every honor: green and white from Brookbank, county champs in wrestling; red and gray from Fairlawn, league champions in cross country; the feared and respected black and yellow from River Dell, state champions in football; brown and white from Pasquanack — a rainbow of teams and schools from all over North Jersey.

Attracted to these young heroes by a force stronger than gravity, the cheerleaders and pompom girls and just plain girls flocked to the Charcoal Pit to see and be seen by the handsome young men.

Shirley and Honey parked, left their books in the back seat, and went into the Pit. They sat in a nice booth by the front window.

“This place is great!” said Shirley, surveying the action and picking up the oversized laminated menu. “The fried clams are really good.”

“Have you ever had the tuna melt?”

“Oh yes. It’s excellent.”

From where they were sitting, the two girls could see the parking lot and the sidewalk which led from the lot to the entrance. A black Galaxy convertible with a red interior, top down, pulled into the lot and two figures, one tall and skinny, one short with broad shoulders, came up the sidewalk to the restaurant.

Shirley nudged Honey. “Well, look who’s here.”

Honey’s eyes widened, and then dropped down to the menu. When Flea and Floater entered the Pit, Shirley waved to them from the booth to come over.

“What are you doing?” hissed Honey.

“Oh, come on,” said Shirley. “We can be friendly.”

Floater sauntered up to the booth. “Well, what’s a couple of classy ladies like yourselves doin’ unescorted in this notorious den of iniquity?”

“We were studying for the test in Bloman’s class.”

“What test?”

“The hour exam on Monday on chapters 30-40, the Vietnam Conflict, remember?”

“There’s only one thing to remember about Vietnam,” said Floater, “and that’s to stay as far away as possible. It’s bad for the health. People are gettin’ their heads blown off over there. And for what? They want my ass, but it ain’t gonna happen. I’d split to Canada first.

“But enough of this unpleasant diversion. Perhaps you ladies might wish to seek respite from your current academic travails and enjoy a brief repast in this culinary establishment in which we presently find ourselves.”

Honey and Shirley exchanged glances and giggled.

“What I mean to ask is, would you ladies object strenuously were my associate Mr. Fleanor and myself be so bold as to presume to join you?”

“What?”

“Mind if we sit down for a minute?”

“No, no.” Shirley and Honey moved over to make room for the boys.

Floater nodded his head and said to Flea, indicating the seat next to Honey, “Apray voo, mon-soor.”

The waitress came by the booth. Flea got a bacon cheeseburger. Floater ordered the soup du jour, French onion. Shirley and Honey just got special house salads with dressing on the side because they decided to stick to their diet and try to lose weight before summer.

“Have you heard from your asshole friend?” Floater asked Honey, shifting in his seat from the pain in his groin.

Honey dropped her eyes. “He came by my house later.”

“He’s been harassing her,” said Shirley. “He’s stalking her. He’s obsessed with her.”

“So tell him to get lost,” said Floater.

“You think I haven’t?” said Honey. “You think I haven’t told him? He won’t take no for an answer. I don’t know what to do...”

“Hey Floater, cool it,” said Flea, speaking for the first time.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Honey. I didn’t mean to...”

“We’ll have a little talk with Nick,” said Flea quietly, “and straighten this all out.”

“That’s right,” said Floater. “This is just some unfortunate misunderstanding.” And he cackled at the memory of Flea decking Nick with one shot at the dance and shifted again in his seat.

Honey took a closer look at Flea. She was very curious about him. He had an air of mystery because he spoke so little. He seemed independent, not worried or even much interested in what anyone thought of him. She found his quiet strength and serious demeanor reassuring. She felt safe with him, safe from Nick.

“My parents are away for the weekend,” announced Floater. “You wanna come over?”

Proceed to Chapter 15...

Copyright © 2010 by Bill Bowler