A Girl From Bethesda

After Johnny ordered, he said, “I knew you were a girl from Bethesda when you asked if I’d ever had a chilly.” “People out west don’t have a clue what it means.” “It’s a Bethesda thing,” Johnny said. “First time I heard it was at a deserted, dead end street out in Potomac—” “Tara Road,” Johnny said as he looked up at the whoosh of the front door opening. “Schlitz,” Johnny hooted in a rallying cry, hands raised over head. Maggie turned and saw someone she hadn’t seen since high school, Mark “Schlitz” O’Halloran, a legendary party animal. And he still looked the part—heavily built like a Buick Roadmaster, though he carried it well with big shoulders, thick torso, a respectable beer belly, and the map of Ireland across his broad, freckled face, a face that still had a look that said, “It’s party time.” “Oh my God,” Schlitz said as he came up to the table and saw Maggie and Johnny together. Maggie got up and hugged Schlitz. Schlitz smiled big at the couple before him, the eyes grinning like a kid in a candy store. He looked at Johnny, then back at Maggie and nodded as if he approved. “We have worlds colliding.” “Sit down, Schlitz, you old rally king, you,” Johnny said as Maggie slid in next to him and Schlitz sat across. “We were just discovering that we both had attended Happy Hour at Tara Road.” And so it began over two pitchers, reminisces about the high school days. It turned out that Schlitz, who went to Walt Whitman High, and was a year behind Johnny and two ahead of Maggie, had known both during high school. “Do you remember the time at Tara Road,” Johnny said with a remembering look of utter joy, “when Dave Hodge put the flashing light on top—” Schlitz cut in, “That was my light and my idea, Hodge’s car.” He smiled a shit-eating grin and said, “I saw you jump into the back of Kenny Bonner’s Caddie convertible, Larry River riding shotgun, plowing through the woods, dirt and Mother Nature’s debris a flying.” Johnny firmly shook his head at the memory. “I should have known who was behind it.” Johnny looked at Maggie. “Those were the days.” There was a look so innocent and yet appealing in Johnny’s eyes. And in the company of Schlitz it was magnified as though a light switch had been turned on. Schlitz and Johnny mentioned names from the past, some Maggie knew and some not. “Remember when the Dill brothers arrived at Shoppes looking to settle a score?” Schlitz said to Johnny. “Chris and John, yeah,” Johnny said with a nod. “Some guys from The Lourdes had roughed up a buddy of theirs. Found out they were at a party and went there and cleaned house.” Schlitz smiled big. “They were the original St. John’s badasses.” Maggie was enjoying listening and adding a tidbit now and then. “Tara Road was like an open air bar with no adults. I almost felt like an urban outlaw.” Johnny put his arm around Maggie’s shoulder and said, “Gotta love this girl, Schlitz.” In that moment of Johnny’s embrace, Maggie felt a surge of comforting bliss; it felt so very right, before he and Schlitz were off again reminiscing. “Remember the time at Hot Shoppes when Dude Newman and Corky Espinoza challenged those hot-rodding rednecks from Rockville to a rumble at the WJ football field,” Schlitz said as he refilled all three glasses. “Larry Rivers told me if it wasn’t for your quick thinking someone might have died that night.” Johnny tried to shrug it off, but Maggie said, “How’s that, Schlitz?” “Johnny and Danny McKenzie, I think it was …” Schlitz looked at Johnny who nodded yes. “They ran lickety-split to the cop station and warned about a big fight about to happen at WJ.” “Johnny O'Brien to the rescue,” Maggie said as she slipped her arm through his and leaned into him. Johnny took Maggie’s hand in his and squeezed. Popping into her head was one of her all time favorite songs, “This Magic Moment.” Johnny shrugged as if to say no biggie, and then wagged a finger at Schlitz. “Larry Rivers, now there was another party animal.” “Don’t forget Kenny Bonner,” Schlitz said. “You three together,” Johnny said as he laced his fingers through Maggie’s, their hands resting on their thighs tight against each other, “were The Three Musketeers of Party at Whitman.” Maggie felt as though she were engaged in two conversations, one vocal and the other a silent, developing intimacy of hand-holding and sitting close together, both of which she was thoroughly enjoying. “Your honor, if I may make a correction for the record.” Maggie raised her brow to Schlitz and then looked at Johnny with false seriousness. “They were The Three Musketeers of Tara Road.” “Correction duly noted,” Johnny said. And may I add to the record, their glorious rallying cry—” Schlitz cut in an uproarious voice, "Party hearty, Tara Road! Party hearty, Tara Road!’" And so it went with Johnny and Schlitz reveling in, “The good old days.” After the second pitcher was empty, Schlitz got up and waved to someone at the bar. “Got to go.” “One more pitcher, Schlitz,” Johnny said. “Two things,” Schlitz said placing both hands on the table, “no make that three. “First the beer is on me.” He raised a hand to a protesting Johnny. “Heck, I drank most of it. I didn’t get the name Schlitz for nothing.” He leaned back, a bemused smile flickering around the corner of his mouth. “Second, I have to collect from my bookie. Redskins finally came through for me, and …” Schlitz said with an empathic tap of fingers on the table, “you two look great together.” He shook his head and said through his big Irish grin, “Worlds colliding.”