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Blogs by Russell A Vassallo
A Night Out 5/24/2016 6:53:46 AM
I was twenty-seven and working for State Farm Insurance as an investigator. One meets a lot of people in that capacity and so, too, did I befriend two ex-Marines and their lovely wives. We bonded together and each weekend in summer they invited me to their stone cottage in Blue Mountain Lake, New Jersey.
The highlight of the weekend was the Saturday night dance, and the highlight of the dance was the Twist which originated when Chubby Checker started a revolution on the dance floor. At first I thought the Twist was the answer to the prayer of a man with three left feet, no sense of timing, and whose personal charm led him to an award for the most feet stepped on in a single performance.
On one particular night, though, my friends plied me with a few beers and prompted me to try my trade on the dance floor. The object of their attention was a single girl, about five-feet eleven inches, buxom, blue eyes, with a singular object of dancing by herself as though she had an imaginary partner. If there was another world, this girl was definitely in it.
I was pushed in front of her, and she began gyrating to the tune of the Twist. i began gyrating too, and several boys who were watching me were having a rollicking time poking fun and barbs at me. In the meantime I was the imaginary figure of someone dancing with this out-of-the-world girl.
What astonished me was when my sideline cheering squad suddenly became very complimentary, clapping and cheering at each new dance step I introduced. Their jeers had turned to cheers and, though it seemed odd, I ignored it and continued making a fool of myself.
The band stopped and announced a break, and I returned to my friends, both of whom were laughing and whispering back and forth.
"O.K?" I asked. "What little secret do you guys know that I don't?"
The taller of the two ex-Marines told me he and his friend had a little talk with the group of jeering patrons of mine.
"So," I asked, "what did you talk about?"
Both of them began to speak so the taller guy, Bert, laughed and blurted out: "I asked those guys if they knew who you were. They said they didn't. So I told them you were a guy connected with the Mafia who arranged hits for the Mob and that you had a short, short fuse. In other words, I convinced them that one word from you, and someone found a burial in the New Jersey swamps."
One of the men came over and asked me what I did for a job. I told him my job involved making people disappear who did not want to be found. Needless to say, I had a permanent group of patrons and friends all night long.
