The anticipation of joy is often better than the joy itself, I thought as I cruised across the Tampa Bay causeway towards Clearwater to visit my old friend Jim. My feeling was one of anticipated fun, because Jim had the personality and life style synonymous with fun. Jim looks like the Marlboro man, tanned, rugged and a little weather beaten. Only substitute a cowboy hat with a sailor cap. He was once given a plaque with “Lord Jim” engraved on it. I remember thinking it was the perfect gift for him, because it depicted his love for the sea and his free-living attitude toward life.
I dropped in on Jim’s father •rst, and over a beer he •nally said, “I guess you heard Vicki left him”. I remembered Vicki from my last visit and although it was never spoken, it had looked like this might •nally be the one. Over the years I had seen Jim with many women, an actress, a teacher, a socialite, all usually pretty, often smart and, occasionally, a little strange. Not once, had Jim ever let on that he was remotely serious with any of them and he had never married. His father brought me back, “I sometimes wish Jim would settle down.”, spoken like a true father. I wondered if Vicki would even be mentioned tonight, probably not. There’s a secret school that men go to. Lesson one “Never show you’re hurting”. It’s considered a sign of weakness.
Jim •nally called and told me how to go to the nearby Commodore’s Club. That was a misnomer, I learned, as I entered and surveyed the scene. It was barely a step above a seedy bar. Peewee’s Pool Hall would have been more like it. An elegant, elderly lady with a pink bouffant hairdo and small horn rimmed glasses was doing brisk business behind the bar, sloshing down the drinks like an addict on speed. After the mandatory old buddy greetings and a few casual introductions to his mates, we got down to the serious business of an electronic dart game. As a shrink once said, men show their affection through activities.
A dollar in the pot, •rst place team wins it all, draw for partners. I got George, who was their one-man band on weekends. Initially, he faked a little enthusiasm for the game, but soon gave up the pretense and, between turns, concentrated on writing lyrics for his new song. I could see his point. No chance of getting discovered here singing, ” The House of the Rising Sun” to this mostly middle aged crowd.
Someone brought out a bottle of the alleged hottest chili sauce in the world. Jim reached for the Iguana XXX Habanero Pepper Sauce, took a little taste and nodded his head in respect. Somehow, as the festive mood of the evening progressed, the hot chili got to be the standing running joke of the evening. Everyone tried to showcase their wit, most of which was, well, what you would expect in a sailor’s bar. The highlight of the evening was when Jim emerged from the rest room with a grimace on his face and stated that he should have washed his hands before he went to pee. Someone made a comment about having “a warm little puppy on his hands.” A voice from the bar shouted, “More like a junkyard dog don’t you mean?. Then the sweet looking grandmotherly bartender snuck up on Jim and poured some ice down the front of his britches. “That should cool you off”, she snickered. The crowd roared their approval.
We •nally made it back to Jim’s house. I asked for an alarm clock for an early •ight out and made my good-bye’s early since I would be leaving early. As I started to go, he kept me with, “About Vicki, I guess you heard. Nice lady. We had some great times.” I mumbled something, trying to keep it casual. Lesson two, “Never get too heavy with sympathy”, too wimpy. Suddenly Jim’s face turned serious. “It’s the same old scene. Sooner or later, they get that strange look in their face and I can see it coming. the C word, the fucking C word. They never say they want to get married. They never ask if you love them. I look into their faces and I know there’s nothing I can do to stop or delay it. It’s like a scene in slow motion. Their mouths opens, their eyes get that glazed over look, a deep breath and the word is •oating through the air. co…co…commitment! They always say that same word, commitment. I can give her any kind of commitment, except a legal one. It’s never good enough, too bad. We were good together”. He shrugged. Jim looked at me like he just remembered I was still there. After an awkward pause, he muttered with a tired sigh, “I’m going to crash.” Call me the next time you’re in town.
The next morning I crept out, and peeked into Jim’s bedroom. He lay sprawled, motionless. In the dark, high above his bedpost I could still make out the old Lord Jim plaque. It looked like it belonged there. I quietly let myself out and sped back down the Tampa Bay causeway, back to my own world.
Yeah, the anticipation was greater then the reality.