Fast Times at Ridgemont High (22 page)

Brad Hamilton slumped in the doorway, home from school. He came out to the deck, took one look at the proceedings, and grimaced. He didn’t mind Linda. The other two guys he didn’t like on looks alone. Underclassmen. Brad went upstairs into his bedroom and slammed the door. He even shut the curtains to his bedroom window, which faced the pool.

“Poor Brad,” said Linda Barrett.

“I know,” said Stacy. “He hardly even talks anymore.”

“Poor guy,” said Damone.

“Really,” said The Rat. There was a somber moment. Everybody knew the story, the sudden fast-food topple from inner lunch court of poor Brad Hamilton.

For The Rat this pool party was pure heaven. A great situation. Damone had become friendly with Stacy in his English class. And she and The Rat had begun to talk a little, even though things had never been on an even keel since the Atlantis. This was a much better situation, though. There was his best buddy Damone to make sure The Attitude was right. The Rat felt pretty good. Why, he even treaded water in the deep end and had a whole conversation with Linda Barrett, the older girl with the great bod.

At the other end of the pool Stacy was sitting in the Jacuzzi talking with Mike Damone. He was a nice guy, a funny guy. She kind of liked teasing him.

“Can I ask you a question?” she said, looking the other way.

“Sure.”

“I heard you were a virgin.”

“Where did you hear that?”

“I just heard.”

“How much is it worth to you,” said Damone, “to
know?”

“Are you or aren’t you?”

“What do you think?”

Stacy looked up at the sky. “I think you are.”

“That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think?”

“You are!”

Underneath the layers of Wisk bubbles Damone felt a cool hand on his thigh, moving upward. It stopped just short of his inner leg.

“You’ll never know,” said Damone coolly. But it came out strange. Like Burt Reynolds, but going through puberty. Under the calm Wisk bubbles Stacy could feel the vibrations in the water. She knew Damone’s swimsuit was a tent.

“Mike!” cried Stacy, flipping back into the pool with a splash. “Why don’t you get up and do a
dive
!”

“Yeah,” said The Rat from the other side of the pool.

“Go ahead!” cried Linda. She hopped off the board.

“No,” said Damone. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” said Mark.

“Naw,” said Damone. “I gotta go pretty soon.”

“Me too,” said Linda. She sunk a finger into her ear and began shaking vigorously. “My ears are really blocked. Hey Stacy, do you have any Q-tips?”

“God,” said Stacy, “I don’t think so. Why don’t you try inside.”

Linda Barrett strolled through the glass sliding doors of the Hamilton living room, dripping wet. She was wearing a maroon string bikini. Brad had seen her standing on the diving board through the curtain in his room, wet suit and all. Brad usually had one thing to say about Linda Barrett—she really had a bod. And she liked to show it off, too. First chance Linda got, it was always, “Let’s go swimming.” Her fiancé, Doug Stallworth, would just have to sit there while Linda, who was already wearing some little bathing suit underneath, ripped her shirt right off. She would always have on that bikini top. Guys went crazy. Doug just sat there, usually choosing that moment to start polishing his glasses.

Brad kneeled on the floor of his bathroom. His green t-shirt was on, his underwear in a pile on the floor behind him. His arm was pumping slowly.

A short film unreeled in his mind. This film featured Linda Barrett, just as she stood on the diving board a moment ago. She was gorgeous. Her breasts seemed even bigger than usual. Her nipples were hard, poking through the filmy maroon string bikini. Water rolled slowly down her cheeks into the corners of her mouth. Her lips were parted slightly. Her eyes were filled with desire.

“Hi, Brad,” she said in the daydream, “you know how cute I always thought you were. I think you’re so sexy. Will you come to me?”

In the daydream, Brad was wearing a nice shirt. His hair was combed back and looking great. He walked to Linda. She reached out and grabbed him for a kiss, pulling him close. Then she pushed him away so he could watch as she carefully unstrapped the top of her bathing suit. The incredible Linda Barrett breasts fell loose. She took Brad’s hands and placed them on her as she began unbuttoning his shirt. They were just about to fall into passionate teenage love making when Brad heard . . .

“Hey Brad! Got any Q-ti . . .”

There was a swift knock at the bathroom door and then—Jesus—it just opened. The words
I’m in here
stalled in Brad’s mouth.

There stood the real-life Linda Barrett, her top very much still on. She was standing in the doorway, paralyzed by the sight before her. Poor Brad was kneeling on the bathroom floor, a sizable erection shriveling in his hand.

“Sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know anybody was in here.” Linda Barrett pulled the door shut as if she wanted to forget what she saw as quickly as possible. They would never again discuss the incident.

Brad stared down into the toilet bowl, still not believing what had happened. It was funny how everything could just turn around on you in a matter of seconds.

Brad slammed the toilet bowl cover down. “Doesn’t anyone fuckin’
knock
anymore?” he said.

The Talent Show

T
he Ridgemont High Talent Show was the last of the February blitz. It was held at 7:30
P.M.
in the auditorium on the last Tuesday of the month. Some of the participants were chosen from auditions; the rest were doing it for a grade in English or speech class. The idea was to convince your parents not to go, go with your friends instead, and laugh at the contestants.

The talent show was the specialty of Gregg Adams, the drama whiz and boyfriend of Cindy Carr. He served as chief organizer, arranged the school band, wrote the show opening tune, wrote the material, and hosted the show with his own sidekick, David Leach. Gregg Adams owned the night.

Twenty minutes before showtime, as the school jazz band, led by Mick Stillson, played its boozy warm-up music, Gregg Adams was backstage getting ready, rushing here, rushing there. Are you okay? Great! Are we ready, Leach? You look
incredible!
Okay, let’s
really
put on a show for ’em. Let’s
go.

The red velour Ridgemont auditorium curtains parted and out bounded Gregg Adams and David Leach. The school band switched to a jazzier, showtime tempo.

Adams and Leach grabbed microphones and hopped onto a pair of stools. Adams had written the whole bit.

“Hi, everybody! Welcome to the Twentieth Annual Ridgemont High School Talent Show.” A few sophomore girls screamed. “I’m Gregg Adams!”

“And I’m David Leach!”

“And have we got a show for you!”

Gregg Adams then began singing his own show-opening tune, “Wild Feeling.” He sang in a semicroon, semiyodel, switching verses with David. Then—and this was Adams’s favorite part—he got to speak to the audience over the instrumental passage.

“. . . And I’ve got a crazy feeling, David, that these people are in store for an incredible evening of entertainment!”

“Some great singing,” said David.

“Some hot dancing!”

“And a monster surprise later on!”

They swung back into the last verse of the song, which revealed the wild feeling to be, of course,
looooo-ooooove,
and Adams finished up with a Tom Jones-style pump.

Gregg Adams was no fool. After the applause died down, he let David Leach tell the first joke.

Leach was different from Adams. A nice guy, but not
quite
as good looking as Adams and not
quite
as funny. His first joke was one he’d told before in Mechanical Arts.

“Why did the monkey fall out of the tree?”

“WHY, LEACH???” There were some rowdies sitting near the front.

“He was dead.”

The rowdies unloaded on him. Threw programs at him. Cackled at him. Leach grinned. He loved the attention.

Adams introduced the first act. “First off,” said Gregg, “is a good example of good entertainment.” Poor Adams. He hadn’t been in English class much this year. There was always a rehearsal or something. “We have a good singer who’s not recognized ’cause she’s not in a lot of the groups or anything. But it’s . . . it’s Brenda Harrison, and she’s singing a song called ‘I Never Meant to Leave You.’ Let’s bring her out!”

Brenda Harrison, a pretty brown-haired girl with large Irish eyes, curtsied and launched right into the song. She was accompanied by a single piano, and after two normal notes she quickly headed for the point of no return, that Bermuda Triangle for amateur singers
. . . the next register.
Would she make it?

Too bad.

It was easy to forgive if you were up on the behind-the-scenes info, as most of the students in the audience were. The song “I Never Meant to Leave You” was clearly for Brenda Harrison’s adoring ex-boyfriend, Tim Copeland. Tim was a young-looking sophomore, known for always being seen with squeaky-clean hair, white-and-green-striped Nike tennis shoes, and Brenda Harrison. But Brenda had recently broken up with him, after two years, for a policeman she’d met one night at her job at Yum-Yum Donuts. Sorry, Tim! I never meant to leave you!

Brenda Harrison even grabbed herself for the final line—“I never meant to leave you/But one day you’ll understand/That I love you forever/And I’ll always be your friiiiiiieeeeeennnnnnd.”

She leaned forward into the spotlight and whispered, “I love you, Tim.”

In the audience Tim Copeland’s friends slapped him on the back.

“She loves
me,”
Tim said ruefully, “but she’s jumping on some
cop.”

“Our next guests combine talent and beauty into a musical feast! Virginia Finch!”

Whooooooa.

“And Marla Buchanan.”

Yeahhhh.

“And Janine Contreras on vocals and flute.”

O-kaaaaay.

“And Mick Stillson on guitar!”

What a fox!

“And they’re gonna play ‘Landslide,’ by Fleetwood Mac!”

The red spotlight hit Mick Stillson, school fox, as he sat on a stool with his guitar. He was wearing a red shirt and new Levi’s. He began fingerpicking the introduction to the song, and there were gasps from the seniors.

“Landslide,” still the most requested lyric for reprinting in school annuals and graduation presentations, is the stuff of which many elderclassmen’s high school lives were lived by. When you got together, “Landslide” was on the radio. When you broke up, it still reminded you of him or her. They would probably graduate with “Landslide.”

Janine sang the song in a quavering voice, barely audible out from behind the Ridgemont superstar backing.

Well I’ve been ’fraid of changing
’Cause I’ve built my life around you.
But time makes you bolder
Even children get older
And I’m getting older too.

A strange beeping noise began at the back of the gymnasium.

Next up was the Girls’ Dance Chorus, featuring Linda Barrett and new soloist Laurie Beckman. They fanned out across the stage, a row of young girls in red, white, and blue tights, singing “Boogie Wonderland.” It went on a little too long.

“Okay,” said Gregg Adams, “are you guys ready for something
radical?
David, are the special effects ready? They are! OKAY! We are almost ready for the fascinating Puuu-eee Balls Dance!”

“THE WHAT?”

“For you guys who don’t know what that is,” Leach announced with authority, “this is a Maui dance that originated in New Zealand and will be performed for you by the drill team!”

The stage was lit in dark fluorescent blue, the kind you see in Tahitian restaurants where umbrellas come in the drinks. Then Day-Glo colored balls began to pitch about the stage. Faster and faster. It was the members of the drill team, hidden in the lighting, whirling these fluorescent balls around on twine. Incredible! A Puuu-eeeee Balls Dance! All right!

It was a big hit with the audience, and when the ovation finished Gregg Adams made like he was exhausted, even by watching.

“There’s going to be a twenty-minute intermission.”

“Don’t you dare go away!”

“And there’s PTA punch in the lobby!”

The school combo started blasting the jazz-rock Muzak again.

In the lobby, once nervous performers were now stars. They stood around with parents and relatives, luxuriously sipping PTA punch and considering futures in show business. Even Adams and Leach were in the lobby.

Adams was cross-examining Cindy Carr. “Did you come late? You came late, didn’t you? You missed the
best
part. David and I came running out and sang part of this song and then talked over it like a couple of Broadway Joes. It was totally classy! And you
missed it,
didn’t you?”

Back on stage for the second half, Gregg Adams was all pro. He led with a joke.

“I don’t know about you,” he said, “but I’ve been noticing Lieutenant Flowers. He’s actually a nice person! I went to him the other day and said, ‘Some sophomore looted my locker,’ and he went and took care of it in the calmest way he knew how. He SHOT THE KID AT SUNRISE!”