Searching for Moore (4 page)

Schooner spent time between Christmas and New Year’s with CJ’s family. Parents loved him. Moms for the obvious reason, dads because he was an athlete and could be a man’s man. When CJ’s mother, Barbara, had Schooner pose with the family on a staircase photo (they were each lined up on consecutive steps, leaning on the banister and all wearing red sweaters — CJ’s Christmas gift to him), Schooner realized that CJ and her mother had this whole thing mapped out. Barbara MacAllister was clearly already naming her little blonde haired, blue eyed grandchildren and their last name would be Moore. It got worse when they took a few shots of just CJ and Schooner on the staircase, the banister decorated in garland and red bows, CJ and Schooner in matching red sweaters.

Schooner felt claustrophobic. He also felt used and manipulated. He was not happy.

That night when everyone was asleep, an angry and frustrated Schooner snuck into CJ’s room. Her pink satin robe hung over the back of a chair. Schooner silently pulled the sash tie from the loops of the robe and approached CJ’s bed. He sat down on the edge and the movement from his weight woke her.

“Shhhh,” he whispered, “keep quiet”

He took her hands and pulled them above her head tying them tightly with the satin sash to the post of her canopy bed.

“Do NOT make a sound,” his voice was gruff and commanding. CJ laid there wide-eyed and nodded her head.

“Your parents think you’re a good girl, don’t they?” CJ nodded. “They think you’re a virgin,” Schooner went on, “but we know better than that, don’t we?” CJ nodded again. “We know what a hot little slut you are,” a moan escaped CJ’s throat. “I told you to be quiet,” his tone harsh. “You are such a slut that every day you suck my sweaty cock and balls when I get off the tennis courts. I don’t even shower and I fuck you.” CJ started writhing, clearly turned on by Schooner’s monologue. “Stay still,” he hissed and she stilled. “Tonight your mother lined us up on the stairs. Her sweet little virginal daughter and her hot boyfriend. Show me off to all of her friends. Brag to them. Well, if she only knew how much you love to suck my dick, do you think she’d still be bragging. And now I am going to fuck her little “virgin” in her pretty little girly bed.” And with that, Schooner got between CJ’s thighs and rammed his cock deep into her dripping wet pussy. “And you won’t make a sound.”

Schooner rode CJ hard, ramming into her. Angry at her manipulation. At her mother’s manipulation. When he was done, he untied the sash and silently got up and left the room.

As had been previously planned for New Year’s, CJ was a guest at the Moore’s home and there was no way she was not going to be present at his family’s annual New Year’s Eve party, no matter how cold their son had been for the past few days. CJ had one chance to make a first impression and the Moores were going to love her.

By New Year’s Eve, Schooner could not wait for winter break to be over. He wanted to be back on the courts, practicing like a motherfucker for a full month before the spring semester tennis schedule began. He was also secretly very happy that CJ would be off for the month exploring European capitals. When she had first signed up for the class, he was not ecstatic about her being away for four weeks. But with intensive pre-season tennis practice, his own class and the feeling like a noose was being tightened around his neck as his future was being decided for him, he was ready to tell CJ to “Have a great trip. See you in February.”

Dee Moore was famous for her parties. She was the consummate hostess and had a natural knack for putting people together and launching conversations. She would get it started and quietly move on to the next group needing her help. Dee liked to think of herself as the sand in the oyster — she’d get it all started and then her job was done. As she surveyed the room that night, she noticed Schooner’s girlfriend CJ was part of her husband’s conversation group, which was made up of all men. CJ hung onto Gavin Moore’s every word and laughed brightly. While the girl had been nothing but pleasant and solicitous, Dee’s motherly red flags were up. CJ was showing the Moores what she thought they wanted to see and Dee instinctively knew they had yet to see the real CJ.

Dee exited the great room wondering where her son might be. Gavin’s home office was empty and Schooner was not with the crowd in the kitchen. Dee made her way to the family room and still there was no sign of Schooner. She saw a slight movement through the French doors and found her son out on the deck, alone.

Schooner was such a social young man, that finding him alone, instead of socializing with family friends he had known his whole life, told Dee that all was not right in her son’s world.

“Getting some fresh air?” She asked, intruding on his silence.

“Hi Mom,” he leaned down and kissed her on the cheek.

“CJ is very lovely, Schooner.”

“Yes, she is. We look like we belong together, don’t we.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“No doubt about it, you two make a very striking couple. Whether you belong together is another story. While it’s nice to see you in a committed relationship and caring for someone, you are both very young. First love can sometimes be overwhelming.” Dee rubbed Schooner’s back, reassuringly.

Schooner remained silent.

“Are you feeling overwhelmed?”

He closed his eyes and sighed, “Mom, I’m really glad she’s going away for the month. Is that a bad thing? Is that telling me something I should be listening to?” Schooner turned to his mother, a pained look on his face. Her heart ached at his confusion.

“No Sweetheart, it’s not a bad thing. It is what it is and those are your feelings. Whether it’s telling you something or not — well, only time will tell — maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. And the time you spend apart may give you a lot of answers. The two of you have just gone through several very intense months learning to live on your own, coming into your own. Take a breath and just give yourself credit for successfully embracing all the change in your life and doing a really great job with it.”

Schooner hugged his mother tight. He just wanted to be the man she wanted him to be, yet always had something gnawing deep in his gut that if she really knew what was going on hidden in his psyche, that he would disappoint her.

“Let’s get inside,” she led him toward the door, “It’s almost the new year.”

At the stroke of midnight, in a room filled with revelers, Schooner kissed CJ deeply. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, lower lip out in a full pretty pink pout.

“I’m going to miss you, too,” he whispered softly in her ear, not being able to voice it out loud. And in that moment, Schooner hated himself just a little bit more for telling her what she wanted to hear.

January was historically a cold and rainy month and it looked like history was going to repeat itself. Half of the student population was abroad or doing domestic travel classes, leaving only about 1200 students on the entire campus. It kind of had a ghost town feel to it and Schooner thought it felt damn good. No roommate. Beau was in Ecuador. No girlfriend. CJ was going to be in London, Paris, Rome, Vienna and Prague. Practice at the new indoor tennis center, that had just been completed over the holiday break, and an American Popular Culture class on the History of American music from blues to modern day would be his life for one month. Sweet.

After a great two hours of returning serves from a relentless machine from 6:00 A.M.- 8:00 A.M., Schooner headed to the dining hall for some breakfast. He thought this would be his January schedule. Early morning time on the court, breakfast, then class from 9:00 to 12:30, Monday through Thursday. Coach had practice from 2:00 — 4:00 daily and then the evening was his open for studying, projects and hanging out. He liked this new plan and couldn’t wait to get into the groove.

Refusing to carry an umbrella, Schooner pulled up the hood of his windbreaker and made his way across The Quad to Clawson Hall. The class was in one of the theatre-style lecture halls and Schooner did a quick scan of the crowd when he walked in, looking for people he knew and hopefully an empty seat.

She looked up just as he scanned the section in which she was seated and broke into a huge smile as their eyes met. A real smile, he thought. He smiled back (a real smile) and started up the stairs, two at a time to her row. She was at the center of the row and he had to climb over a few people to get to the empty seat next to her.

“Hey, how was your holiday?” He was really happy no one else had been sitting on her right.

“Great and yours?”

“It was good. My Dad was asking about you. He said to say hello if I saw you.”

“Please tell him and your mom hello from me,” she gestured to her friends sitting on the other side of her, “Do you know Henry and Rosalie?” And she turned to them, “Guys, do you know Schooner?”

Schooner recognized Mia’s two friends from her “entourage,” but had never actually spoken to either of them before. He was pretty sure that both Henry and Rosalie were gay. He lived in the jock dorm and if anyone was gay, they were certainly not out. Mia, Henry and Rosalie lived in a dorm whose motto could have been, “Anything Goes.”

“Do you know anything about this professor?” Schooner asked.

Mia’s face lit up and she became very animated, “I had him last semester and he is the coolest prof on campus. He grades really tough though. He truly makes you think and expects a lot from your papers. I hate his freaking red pen.”

“Oh crap. Writing is not my strongest skill.” Schooner admitted.

“Rut roh.” Mia did a Scooby Doo imitation, “It IS my strongest skill and he still beat the crap out of me. But he’s a great lecturer and he just makes everything really fun. He’s also like the best guy to talk to.”

Dr. Richard Stevens took the podium in the front of the room. He was dressed in faded jeans and a worn blue work shirt and looked every inch the “cool” professor. He was very articulate and there was just a hint of a British accent. Schooner noticed that Mia was looking at him like he was hot. She definitely had a Prof Crush.

“Welcome to Interim,” he began. “One class. Just one class. For those of you who are freshman and this is your first Interim, you are thinking that you just got an extra month of vacation. You’re thinking you’ll be keeping the ole’ bong fired up.” Chuckles and murmurs coursed throughout the room, “You’re thinking marathons of Hearts and Spades. You’re thinking you’re going to be shitfaced for a month,” he paused, “well, you’re wrong. For the next month, you will be learning about the American soundtrack. You will be learning how music is the universal connector from generation to generation, it is the mirror that reflects society and it’s mores. You will be sitting in your dorm rooms, quite possibly with a bong in hand,” more chuckles from the lecture hall, “and will hear the music you are playing differently than you’ve ever heard it before. You’ll want to write about it, dissect it, discuss it, argue about it and get lost in it. Listening to music will never be the same.”

Mia smiled at Schooner, her eyes alight. She was right, he thought, this guy is dynamic. This is going to be amazing.

“Four weeks. Three individual papers, the first one due this week,” he paused, “yes, you heard me right. I said this week. There will be one group project. No tests.” A small cheer from the lecture hall at the mention of no tests. Professor Stevens continued, “Your group project will make up 40% of your grade, each paper is worth 20%. So, as you can see, there is no room to screw up. There are 28 of you in this class and you will break into 7 groups of 4 for your group projects.”

Mia looked left at Rosalie and Henry and right to Schooner, “Us four?” And they all agreed.

Professor Stevens turned to the board and began writing.

“Our culture finds its tension and its life within the borders of the glimmer and the dying away, in attempts to come to terms with the betrayal without giving up on the promise” ~ Greil Marcus
²

He turned back to the class and pointed to the board, “If you haven’t already begun to write down this quote, I would suggest you start immediately, because this is what we will be discussing for the next four weeks. This is what all of your papers will be about and this is what your final project will be about. Learn that quote, digest it, process it and start applying it to your thinking.”

He turned back to the board and started to write again.

Harmonica Frank
Robert Johnson
Blind Lemon Jefferson
Muddy Waters
John Lee Hooker
The Band
Bob Dylan
Laura Nyro
The Grateful Dead
Creedence Clearwater Revival
Sly Stone
Allman Brothers
Elvis Presley
Bruce Springsteen
Chrissie Hynde
CSNY
Dr. John
Beach Boys

“This list goes on and on. It’s dynamic and it’s intertwined. Where does one influence end and another begin? Can they be separated?” Professor Stevens hit a button, static crackled through the room. Schooner and Mia both looked at one another in the same moment, wide eyed and wide smiled as the first strains of Robert Johnson’s blues classic “Come on in My Kitchen” began to play.

When a woman gets in trouble
Everybody throws her down
Looking for her good friend
None can be found.
You better come on, in my kitchen
There’s going to be rain in our door.
³

Interim had officially begun.

Three and a half hours flew by as they listened to music and talked about its meaning, its cultural significance and the topics they would delve into daily — What is the American birthright? What are the promises? What are the betrayals? How, as a people, do we come to terms with the chasm between promise and betrayal, and how is that portrayed in music?

It was fascinating and being exposed to music they’d never heard before had the foursome pumped up. By the time they got out of class and walked across The Quad to the dining hall for lunch, their excitement was palpable, thoughts and theories beginning to formulate and flow out of them. As they walked through the food line, they tossed around topics for their project (which they didn’t even have the guidelines for yet!), but that’s how psyched up they were.