Summer Of 64

The small group of teenagers sat in the corner of the near empty offices of Ryan, Smith and Dodge. It was lunch hour and most of the workers had taken advantage of the warm Friday afternoon to take a walk on the streets of New York. Jimmy Ross, the youngest of the four, fiddled with the dial of his new transistor radio, changing the news station they had been listening to get the baseball scores to one that played top 40 tunes. To their annoyance, instead of how the local teams had done, the radio commentator had been going on and on about some incident with two American warships in some place called the Gulf of Tonkin. “Where the hell is the Gulf of Tonka?” Joe Wilson asked, just before Jimmy changed the station. “That’s the Gulf of Tonkin, dummy,” Peter Butler corrected Joe. “It’s a body of water between Vietnam and China. Tonka are the trucks you probably still play with.” “Well thank you Mr. Geography,” Joe laughed back. “Leave it to you to know the name of every unimportant piss-ant little country in the world.” “Well if you paid any attention in Miss Murray’s class, you’d have known it too,” Peter, who had gone to school with Joe, added. “Yeah, like that little piece of information is ever going to come up again in my lifetime,” Joe retorted.

The friendly barbs faded as the sounds of “Pretty Woman” replaced that of the wooden announcer. The discussion moved onto more important subjects, at least those more important to eighteen-year-olds working summer jobs before going off to college in a month. They went from the Yankees’ chances of making it to the World Series again to the new James Bond film, Goldfinger. “Hey did you see this about the new program that’s coming on CBS next month?” Steve Walton asked as he flipped through a TV magazine as he ate. “It’s about a bunch of people who take a mini-cruise and get shipwrecked on a deserted island.” “Now that sounds like a stupid idea for a show,” Peter said as he finished off his own soda. “What’s it called?” “Gillian’s, no wait a sec… Gilligan’s Island,” Steve read. “That sounds as stupid as the idea,” Joe joined in as he leaned over and looked at the large picture of the show’s cast that accompanied the article. “But I’ll tell you what; I wouldn’t mind getting stranded with those two,” he grinned, pointing out the two younger women in the photograph. “Yeah, like you’d know what to do with them once you were on the island,” Peter interrupted. “You’d better believe it,” Joe shot back. “Trust me, a week alone with me on an island and I’d have both of them giving me blowjobs.” “More likely committing suicide,” Peter corrected him. “As if you ever really got a blowjob in your life.” “Hey, all I can say to that is Donna Petrachinni, what more needs to be said.” Peter reserved comment on his friend’s reply. Ever since the night of their senior prom, Joe had claimed to have gotten Donna Petrachinni to have gone down on him. The only guy in class to have the nerve to make a claim like that. Now Donna wasn’t exactly the hardest girl in town to talk out of her bra, and sometimes even her panties, although it was only to let you rub her pussy with your hand. Getting her to take your cock in her mouth was something else all together. Blowjobs or oral sex if you wanted to get technical, were the Holy Grail of sexual accomplishments among all the guys they knew. Few were those who had actually experienced one. Not even Peter’s older brother, Mark, who had been married a year now, had ever gotten one. The subject had come up in a discussion between the two brothers and the elder admitted that his new bride wouldn’t even discuss the idea. “Hey, I’ll tell you who I’d really like to be stranded on a deserted island with,” Steve said, saving Peter the trouble of having to once again express skepticism over Joe’s reoccurring claim. Three sets of eyes turned in Steve’s direction for the answer. The blond haired teen waited a long heartbeat and then answered, “Kathy Chakiris.”

A chorus of “Oh Yeah” came from Joe and Jimmy in response to the answer. Peter, strangely enough, tried hard not to react to the suggestion. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with his three co-workers’ assessment. Far from it in fact. He was just afraid that if he replied at all, it would be so enthusiastically that it would be embarrassing.

The second youngest of the summer help, although that really didn’t matter that much when you were only talking about months if not weeks difference, Peter Butler had been totally smitten by Kathy Chakiris since the day he’d been hired. In that regard, he was far from alone. Kathy Chakiris was a tall, dark haired woman of thirty who was the back office’s chief clerk. A sort of assistant to the office manager, she had a lot of responsibility but little real authority. Of Greek background, Kathy was without doubt, the sexiest woman in the company. Aside from her deep olive skin and dark red lips, she had a striking figure that included a bust to rival Jane Mansfield’s. Divorced two years ago after an eight-year marriage, it had become a point of certainty among most of the men in the office that she was hot to trot. This was a belief that none of them had ever been able to back up with personal experience, but a strongly held conviction never the less.

Almost as if on cue, people began to return to the office at that moment, and in the forefront of the group was Kathy. Dressed in a form fitting dark blue dress that hugged her figure like a second skin, she was also wearing the dark sunglasses that she wore even inside the office. Peter couldn’t recall ever seeing her without those glasses, an element that just added to her allure. “Good afternoon boys,” Kathy smiled and said as she walked past the small group. None of them really answered, feeling her gaze even through her dark glasses. It was almost as if she knew what they’d been discussing. At least that was the way Peter felt. He was also sure he wasn’t the only one of his friends who thought of Kathy when they were alone and took matters in hand. It wasn’t until two more groups passed that the four young men tossed the remnants of lunch into a pail and went back to their work spots. Peter happened to be assigned to Kathy’s department this week and had only settled at his desk when Mr. Davis, the department manager walked into the center of the room and called for everyone’s attention. “I’m afraid that I have some bad news, Ladies and Gentlemen,” the balding fifty-year-old announced. “I just got a call from a friend at the home office and it seems that we’re going to find ourselves the recipients of a surprise audit come Monday morning.” A flurry of low groans greeted the announcement. People who had been there for any time knew what was coming next. “Now while I’m sure that they’ll find everything as it should be, small errors have been known to happen from time to time,” Mr. Davis continued. “So as we’ve done in the past, I’d like you all to come in tomorrow morning and we’ll run a practice audit. Just to make sure that everything balances.” A second round of groans, which Davis just seemed to ignore, followed the first. With only three more weekends left in the summer, each was precious. Mr. Davis assured them all that if they got in by seven, he was sure they could finish by noon and still have plenty of time to spend the day with their families.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Chakiris,” Peter asked as he stepped up to her desk. “Does that include us, coming in tomorrow I mean?” “I’m afraid so, Peter,” she replied with a friendly smile. “Even though you really don’t have anything to do with the audit, Mr. Davis likes everyone to come in as a show of support. I`m sorry.” “That’s okay,” Peter smiled back. “I don’t really mind, I just wanted to be sure that I was supposed to come in, that’s all.” “I wish everyone were so co-operative,” the tall woman replied. “It’s all I can do to get some people in here kicking and screaming.” “Well I guess I better get back to work,” Peter said as he walked away. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Kathy already once more engrossed in a report that had been sitting on her desk. When he got back to his own desk, Peter was immediately aware of two things. One, that he could still smell her perfume, and that two, he had a first class hard on because of it. Looking downward so no one could see him blush, the dark haired young man hoped that the former would stay with him for some time, and that no one had noticed the latter.

Peter had to rise extra early Saturday morning to catch the train and get into the office by seven. He hoped that Mr. Davis had been right about their being out of there by noon. His father had won tickets at the local bar to the game between the Mets and the Colt 45’s out at Shea that afternoon and had given them to his two sons. A Yankee fan to the core, Ben Butler had no interest in wasting his Saturday afternoon watching Casey Stengel’s Amazing’s make fools out of themselves once again. Not that the new Houston team was that much better. Now if they had been Yankee tickets, he would’ve been more than happy to truck out to the Bronx and watch Yogi Berra’s Bombers on their way to yet another World Series. The days of the great Titans of Yesteryear might have been fading, but an afternoon watching the likes of Mantle, Ford and Maris was still not to be missed. “One of these days,” Peter had told his Dad, the Mets are going to really be contenders. They might even be World Champions.” “Sure they will,” his father had laughingly replied. “That’ll happen right after they really walk on the Moon.” Not really one to speak ill of the dead, but Ben Butler had an even lower opinion of President Kennedy’s promise to send men to the Moon before 1970 than he did of the National League’s new team . Another colossal waste of time and money, he’d said at the time. Even if it was somehow possible, which he doubted. Before he left home, Peter had left a message with his brother’s wife that if he couldn’t make the game, he’d call and let him know. It would be real easy for him to find someone to go in Peter’s place.