A Couple of Dee Dee Stories

• During the previously blogged Quebec City trip, I noticed a number of "Aigle d'Or" gas stations. This was a brand I'd never encountered, and I mentioned the large number of such stations that we had passed.
  
  Dee Dee immediately opined that there were more Irving gas stations than Aigle d'Or. Naturally, this became a competitive situation.
  
  On Monday, I did the driving for the return trip, and we kept a running count of the stations with the two brands. Carla and my dad were in the back seat, the counts remained pretty close, and after a while things settled down. After perhaps a half hour of relative quiet I heard Dad say, "Oh, Donnie! Look to your left!"
  
  This was followed instantly by "I HATE YOU! You're supposed to be sleeping," from Dee Dee.
  
  I looked to the left, saw perhaps fifteen or twenty *huge* Aigle d'Or gasoline storage tanks, and made my claim: "I get a thousand points." If not accepted, exactly, the claim was not contested.
  
  Perhaps a dozen years later Dad and I encountered an Irving station in New Hampshire, and nothing would do but that we pull over and take pictures of it to mail to Dee Dee, who by this time was married. When next we talked on the phone, her reaction was identical to her responses over more than a decade: "He's so cute."
  
  
• Dee Dee and my great-aunt Bertha became great friends, and from time to time the two of us would visit her in Brockton and take her to a local chain steak house, possibly Bonanza, which was Bertha's favorite place.
  
  One such night was during the winter, and it was freezing cold and slippery. The plan was for me to pull up and let Dee Dee and Bertha enter the restaurant while I parked the car somewhere. Bertha was nothing if not adventurous, and the instant the car stopped she was out the door, not giving Dee Dee time to help her.
  
  Now it happened that the car was at the crest of a short - perhaps five foot - incline, which was iced over, and just as Dee Dee got to Bertha and grabbed her arm, the two of them started gliding down this incline.
  
  My heart was in my mouth as I watched Dee Dee and this eighty-odd year old woman slide to the bottom, but they reached it safely and with Bertha whooping and laughing.
  
  We had a great time over dinner and when it was time to go Bertha jumped up and took off by herself again. She was awaiting cataract removal surgery and was half blind, and with a right turn she made a beeline for what she thought was the exit door handle. She had a death grip on a gooseneck lamp which she was trying to pull off the wall when I reached her.

Quebec City for Four

Dee Dee, my father, his girlfriend (Carla) and I decided to spend a Labor Day weekend in Quebec City. We drove up in my car, stopping overnight in Watertown, Maine.

This was the third time I had done this, having gone once with Marylou and once with Dee Dee. All three times I stayed at the same hotel in Watertown and the same motel in Quebec. I'd recommend them to you, but I no longer have any clue about their names.

Speaking of recommendations, if it's still there you should have lunch or dinner at Chalet Suisse, a small fondue restaurant in downtown Quebec City. Or at least you should have thirty years ago.

On Saturday Dad and I took the girls for carriage rides. My best advice to you is that if you're going to do this in Quebec City in September, bundle up. Our teeth were chattering when we finished.

Somewhere along the way Dee Dee jumped out of the carriage for a minute and bought some candy from a vendor. She had a sweet tooth that wouldn't quit. After the rides we all did a little sightseeing and a little shopping, then returned to our rooms. The minute we got into our room Dee Dee began unwrapping some candy. I sighed and watched.

"What's the matter?"

"Dee, you know you don't eat much as it is. We're going to a nice restaurant and if you eat candy now you won't eat at all later."

"Oh, I'll eat it all, I promise."

She kept unwrapping, finally stopped, and said, "You're gonna be mad if I eat some, aren't you?"

"No, just irritated. I'll be furious later when you don't eat."

Silence, followed by the munching of candy. She offered me some.

"No thanks. I'm having dinner soon."

This made her irate, which I found very funny, and soon she was the one who was annoyed and I was the one who was having a good time.

There came a knock on our door, and I let Dad and Carla in. One look at the storm clouds on Dee's face and they knew something was wrong.

Dad: "What's the matter, Dee?"

Dee: "Oh, he's mad because I ate some candy. But I'm gonna eat all my dinner."

This, by the way, almost certainly would have been a first. Dee was a light eater, and I doubt that she had eaten "all her dinner" since the day she was born. But as I said, I had now shrugged it off and was in a good mood.

Donnie: "Dee, will you carry an extra pack of my cigarettes in your purse?"

Dee: "NO!"

Donnie: "If you'll carry my cigarettes I'll carry your candy." Then I collapsed on the bed, laughing. Dad laughed, and Carla, knowing that Dee needed an ally, had to bite her tongue and turn her back to hide her smile.

Naturally, at dinner, Dee ate about three bites. Astonishingly, she was actually surprised that she couldn't eat "all" of it. She looked up at me with a truly apologetic expression. "It's OK, Dee. Don't worry about it."

A couple more "Dee in Quebec" anecdotes:

• On Sunday the four of us had lunch at a modern family restaurant just outside the city. Carla and I spotted a luscious looking dessert on the menu, "Hot Fudge Lucerne," an obsecenely concocted, stroke inducing, ice cream kludge, with a hot fudge sundae as its base. We both ate lightly and then ordered that dessert. Dee, perhaps as penance, did not. But . . .
  
  Monday morning we agreed to stop for breakfast before beginning the long drive home. For Dee, nothing would do but that we stop at that same restaurant for breakfast, and while the rest of us had eggs, pancakes, or whatever, she had the Hot Fudge Lucerne.
  
  
• On our previous trip to Quebec, Dee and I decided to use the motel swimming pool. When we got out there, there wasn't another human in sight. Just before we entered the water, Dee spotted a frog in the pool.
  
  Dee: "I'm not going in the water with that frog in there."
  
  Donnie: "He won't hurt you. He'd probably feel the same way if you'd gone in first."
  
  Not one step toward the water.
  
  Donnie: "Just use the other end of the pool."
  
  That worked. In she went, floundering around and enjoying it.
  
  Dee, testily: "What's he doing in here anyway? Frogs aren't supposed to be in swimming pools."
  
  Donnie: "I'd guess he can't get out. The water's too far below the edge of the pool."
  
  Instantly - instantly - her expression changed from one of annoyance to one of sympathy and concern. She dogpaddled over to the frog, came up under him with her hand, and set him on the ground. He hopped off without so much as a "Kiss me, I'm a prince."

Preempted Trips

I suppose we all get into ruts, doing things that we like over and over, and my father once told me, "You overdo everything you like." (It's still true.) But Dee Dee was the queen of that.

She and my father had formed a mutual admiration society (her favorite phrase regarding him was "He's so cute!"). He moonlighted at a steak house and cocktail lounge, playing a Hammond electric organ in the lounge. He was a ham and is probably the source of my penchant for entertaining people.

One night following our post-work Chinese dinner, I took Dee to the steak house. We entered the lounge and I introduced Dee to my father. They bonded instantly. As a result, Dee and I spent at least nine out of ten Friday nights going to the restaurant and the lounge. She just didn't want to do anything else.

Now I loved my dad, and I enjoyed these Fridays, but really, there had to be something else in the world that we would enjoy doing. Once in a great while I could talk her into going to a movie, but that was about it, and on those occasions, even when she enjoyed the movie, she clearly regretted not seing my dad.

We did spend a long weekend in Quebec City, and that was fun. I began to think of other places she might enjoy.

Donnie: "Dee, you've never been to Disneyworld, have you?"

Dee: "No."

Donnie: "We should take a short vacation and go there."

Dee: "We could do that."

Several weeks later she went to Disneyworld with girlfriends. Sigh.

Down the road a bit . . .

Donnie: "Dee, have you ever been to Las Vegas?"

Dee: "No."

Donnie: "We should take a vacation and go there."

Dee: "Okay."

Yup. Soon after she went to Las Vegas with girlfriends.

I found this depressing. I never understood it and she could never explain it. Writing this now, more than thirty years later, I find myself actually getting angry about it. I gotta get a grip.

MOVIES. DEE, AND ME

• The first movie I took her to see, The Sound of Music, became her all-time favorite. Later this movie was to demonstrate that she had my number.
  
  She and I broke up and reconciled several times over the years. On a Sunday morning during one of the separation periods, I happened to notice that The Sound of Music was going to be on TV that afternoon. I grabbed the phone and dialed her number, knowing she'd want to see it. She still lived with her parents, and her brother answered the phone. We chatted for a minute or two and then I asked him if Dee was home.
  
  "No, she's out shopping with my mom. She said you'd be calling, though."
  
  "What?"
  
  "Yeah, something about a movie on TV."
  
  
• I took her to see The Bad News Bears (in 1976, the first time around for this title). Their baseball team was competing for a chance to go to Japan. When the Bears won in a cliff-hanger, the movie ended. As we left the theater . . .
  
  Dee: "Phew. I was afraid they wouldn't win."
  
  Donnie: "Naw, there was no chance they wouldn't win."
  
  Dee: "Yes there was. Why do you say that?"
  
  Donnie: "Because otherwise they wouldn't be able to make The Bad News Bears Go to Japan.."
  
  Dee, shrilly: "You don't know that! You don't know that they'll make a movie like that."
  
  A year or two later I noted in a newspaper that The Bad News Bears Go to Japan was about to be released. It was a work day and I called her at her office. She answered. All I got to say was "Good morning." Then I heard, "I know. I saw the ad on TV."

Marylou - Part IV: Meeting Mom

Marylou and I had had several dates, always ending up at her home. On one Friday we had decided to stay at mine. The next morning . . . .

We were going to spend the day together, and of course we had to go to her place so she could change clothes, etc. Not far from her house, she said, "Let's stop for breakfast."

"Sure thing."

"Good. Park anywhere around here. I like this place." She pointed to a small restaurant which my memory tells me was called "The Mug and Muffin," certainly a name to inspire confidence regarding the likelihood of a good breakfast.

I held the restaurant door open, she stepped in, I stepped in behind her, and she stopped in her tracks.

She reached for my hand and began pulling me forward. "There's my Mom," she said and nodded across the room toward a table of four women, middle-aged or approaching it. "Come on, I'll introduce you."

As we reached the table, Mom was finishing a sentence. Marylou led me to Mom's side, but before she could speak Mom looked up, took me in with a glance, and said, "Hi, Marylou. Isn't that the dress you wore to work yesterday?"

It was all I could do not to laugh, and I knew then that she and I would get along just fine, thank you very much. That was a bit of a relief. I've always made it a point to get along with the mom. You just can't have a better ally or a worse enemy.

(As an aside, I've also made it a point to remain friends with former girlfriends. Partings have always been friendly. One former girlfriend, Dee Dee - about whom there will be some discussion later - and I split more than twenty-five years ago, and she married a year or so after. Not only do she and I still exchange Christmas cards, but her mother and I do as well. I still see Dee Dee for lunch on the rare occasions when I am in the Boston area, and a few years ago we visited with her mother.)

Several more isolated Marylou incidents come to mind:

• I had picked Marylou up after work and we were driving on the Boston Expressway. Ford had a station wagon model named the Country Squire and had just introduced the Pinto. I had read that someone suggested it be called the Country Squirt.
  
  I mentioned the Pinto, which Marylou knew about, and asked, "Do you know what someone suggested it be called?"
  
  "The Country Squirt."
  
  "How did you know that?"
  
  "Not only am I pretty . . . ."
  
  
• In bed on a Saturday morning at my apartment, I grabbed one of Marylou's feet and began playing "This Little Piggy." When I finished she said, "That's not how it goes."
  
  "Yes it is. How else would it go?"
  
  "I don't remember, but that's not it."
  
  Later on, at her house, she finished changing clothes, grabbed my hand and said, "Come on. I want to talk to my mother."
  
  Downstairs we went, and we found Mom sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. We sat down with her and Marylou demanded, "How does 'This Little Piggy' go?"
  
  Mom looked at me and her eyes twinkled. She knew something was up and it was going to be fun. She recited "This Little Piggy" and waited.
  
  "That's not how you did it with me when I was little."
  
  "Of course it is, dear. Why would I lie?"
  
  
• We decided to drive to Quebec City for a holiday weekend. There we had a wonderful time, but Monday morning it was time to leave and rain was coming down in sheets.
  
  Perhaps an hour and a half into the return drive, still in Canada, I realized that we were not on the road I had intended to be on. I played it back in my mind and decided that a half hour earlier I had veered left at a fork in the road and should have veered right. I told Marylou about it and kept driving.
  
  "Aren't you going to look at a map?"
  
  "No. The map's in the trunk and it's pouring rain. We're heading south, which is good, and I'll just keep taking major roads west and south as we come to them." I no longer remember the highway number I wanted to be on, but told it to her and suggested she watch for it.
  
  Wriggle. Wriggle wriggle.
  
  "I think you should look at the map."
  
  "I'm not gonna get out in this rain if I can help it. We'll be OK."
  
  More wriggling. Much accusatory silence.
  
  West. South. West. Bingo!
  
  WRIGGLE! "I was hoping you wouldn't find it."
  

Marylou and I dated for perhaps a year. Given the coat closet and hair on fire incidents, I sometimes wonder if she wasn't just waiting to see what I would do next. A year or two later I heard that she had married a Kansas City consultant, and I wish her well.