Malloree was a few years younger than Logan, but she had been the apple of his eye for quite some time now. Ever since she had come to work at Pellmans.
Malloree was the most beautiful girl Logan had ever seen, and he thought that today could be the day. Today could be the day he would finally ask her out on their first date. He had done his research. He knew what kind of music girls her age liked. He knew what they liked to do. He stocked his car with smooth jazz CDs. He knew that girls liked saxophone players, he’d seen “Some Like it Hot” with Marilyn Monroe. He got music that should make her feel warm and comfortable. He bought Kenny G, Dave Koz, Candy Dulfer, even Boney James.
He also remembered when he’d been in high school. In those days, girls enjoyed artists like The Carpenters, Christopher Cross, Barry Manilow or the Captain and Tennille. He used to keep eight-track tapes in his car in those days. For his planned date with Malloree, he stocked up on some of those artists, as well. Those guys were harder to find on CD, but he had located at least one example from each artist. He even managed to score a Barry Manilow CD at a Second Spin Shop.
That morning, at work, Logan kept one eye on the break room. He watched Malloree go in for coffee at about nine o’clock and waited, counting to ten before following her in. He planned to put a cheese Danish in the microwave and strike up a conversation with Malloree.
As he breezed in and spotted her pouring a cup, he made his way to the fridge.
“Morning, Malloree,” he sang out cheerfully. He reached in and found the bag with the two Cheese pastries he had picked up that morning at French’s.
“Hmm? Oh, good morning Mr Oberlin,” she responded absentmindedly.
“Please, call me Logan.” He looked in the bag, “Oh wow, looks like they gave me two this morning. I only asked for one.” He muttered to himself then, as if only then occurred to him, he offered one to Malloree. “Hey, you want one of these cheese Danishes?” He asked. “It looks like they gave me two this morning. I can’t eat two.” He held the bag out so she could see it.
“No, thanks Mr. uhm… Logan,” she said, “I have to watch my weight.”
“They’re from French’s Bakery,” he was trying to tempt her.
“I love French’s,” she said. “If you’re sure you don’t want it?”
“Oh, I’m sure. I can’t eat both of these.” He pulled a couple of paper plates from the cupboard, placed a pastry on each and slid them into the microwave. Now he had her attention and some time.
“Hey Malloree,” he started, “I won some passes to ‘WonderLand Park’ from a Gary Ghost contest on KJJW. I was thinking about going this weekend, but it’s no fun to go by myself. Would you be interested in coming along?”
There was a moment of silence. Then she gushed, “OMG, Logan, you listen to Gary Ghost?”
He held his hands out, palms up, “What? Of course, I listen to Gary Ghost. I’m not some old geezer.”
He smiled, she smiled and thought about it for a while.
“Is Gary Ghost going to be there?” she asked.
“I’m not sure,” Logan said, “maybe.”
Her face lit up when she smiled, “I’d love to. Thank you.”
“Great, I can pick you up around two on Saturday afternoon. You have to give me your phone number, tell me where you live.”
“Of course,” she said and then she wiggled her shoulders, set her breasts to swaying. She did a little happy dance as she exited the break-room, Her pastry forgotten. Logan decided not to chase her and, ate both of the Danishes.
At two o’clock sharp Logan pulled up in front of her apartment building. He went upstairs and knocked on the door marked 36B. Malloree, almost immediately came dancing out to the landing. She looked beautiful with her short and colourful sundress, sandals, and a wrap slung over her arm. In the car, Logan started the engine and pushed in the Kenny G Ultimate Collection CD. He selected the Songbird track. The music started slow and soft, but when Kenny began playing a look of extreme distaste came over Malloree’s face.
“What the f…. is that?” Malloree said with a loud laugh.
Logan turned red and reached for his Christopher Cross.
“Jeezus,” Malloree exclaimed, “don’t you have any punk music. Put on The Cranky Fuckers or Industry Tommys!” she smiled, rolled her window down, and raised both fists out into the wind as Logan pulled away from the curb.
Make of, or do with the following narrative what you will:
I remember the first time I heard Kenny G. We had MTV playing in the background while we puttered around, separately doing whatever it was we were doing, when this soft, melodic, soprano saxophone came wafting through the house. We simultaneously emerged from wherever we individually were, drawn to what this completely bizarre/not MTV sound was. The two of us stood dumbfounded, listening and watching ‘Songbird’ video.
“What the f….was that?” my husband said with a loud laugh when it ended.