Nancy Robinson was the secretary of the Oswegatchie Hills Club, an organization catering to homeowners in the resort neighborhood where I grew up. Her husband, Herb, was the president of the O.H.C. and a successful C.P.A. They hailed from New Haven.
The Robinsons arrived two weeks before the regular summer crowd. Herb wanted time to schmooze the year-round residents. Nancy stayed at their house, whooshing out the winter's dust, waiting for the arrival of her posse of helpers. Three other wives who, following Nancy's lead, ran O.H.C.'s activities.,
Herb gave the speeches. Nancy made it all click. Her department included golf, horseback riding, clay tennis courts, private beaches, and sailing. Activities started in late May and continued into early September.
The Robinson's beachfront property was their summer home.
I was a privileged, eighteen-year-old punk. My family, which consisted of my parents and me, lived year-round on the point. My father, Lloyd, was an oncologist. My mother, Marta, was a pediatric oncologist. We lived on a hill that overlooked the ocean, a golf course, and the sprawl of my neighbor's houses.
My buddies were an insufferable bunch of townies. They annoyed the shit out of my hoity-toity neighbors, which was why I kept them around. The Flanagan brothers, Todd Carlson, his brother, Jim, and the worst of us, Robert Course. He was a well-built ruffian who backed his talk up with his fists. He wore engineer boots the year round and rolled cigarette packs into his t-shirt sleeves. He wore a knife strap on his ankle, carved his name on trees and backstops, and talked incessantly about pussy, often calling it snatch.
His dog, Lucky, had mange and was his constant companion.
We fought mainly amongst ourselves for all the gale we blew—a mix of fists and wrestling matches. We'd end up on the ground, with Robert encouraging Lucky to mount at will. None of us thought to challenge Robert's authority, but one day, Robert stuck a finger under Todd's nose.
"I fucked your mother last night. Wanna smell it?"
Todd slapped Robert's hand out of his face, and a regular fight broke out.
It ended with Todd on the ground kicking at Robert while he lunged in with punches. The kicks won the day. Robert caught some stiff ones and waived off the fight.
When Todd stood up, he had a red face but was taller in my eyes.
I'd fought Todd on several occasions and usually had a slight edge. From what I'd seen, I reasoned I'd beat Robert if push came to shove. I planned to take no more orders.
My opportunity was less than a week later while we stood on the golf course in direct view of the Robinsons' house. Robert demanded a cigarette, and I told him to buy a pack.
I ducked his punch, caught him in a headlock, and twisted him to the ground. I quickly had him flattened out on his back, sitting on his chest while my buddies encouraged me to rain punches down on his face, but it wasn’t in me. Thinking back on it, I believe Robert wanted to concede. He’d had enough of being the tough guy, and from that day until the day he succumbed to H.I.V., he called me his champion.
Unknown to me, at the time of my fight with Robert, Nancy Robinson had watched from her house. I found out three days later when she touched my shoulder while I was reading a comic in a local magazine shop. I'd never gotten as close a look at her as in that moment, let alone exchanged words.
Her voice was soft but emphatic. She was taller than me, smelled of tan lotion, and had a confident smile.
"I'm surprised your parents let you read such stuff."
Nancy turned one of the pages. She was fragrant under her arms. One of her tits pressed my shoulder. My cock stirred.
"I'm old enough to join the army," I managed.