The Sunday Spaghetti Dinner

In some faculties of mind he has been, and is, only a child. But he is growing, and some things that were childish at the first are now of man's stature. He is experimenting, and doing it well.
-Bram Stoker
"Dracula"

Twenty-five years ago today:

June 2, 1985
Sunday

Dale was the first to call.
“I’m at SAFEWAY and I’ll be right over after I finish shopping for the pasta goodies,” Dale said.
“Oh okay, that sounds good.”

I think Steff called for a few minutes, too. I really wish she’d stop calling me.

Dale arrived and I helped him unravel the four bags of groceries. It looked like he bought food for an army!

I rummaged through the brochures Dale picked up yesterday when he went to the Gift Center with his wife, Dee.

I spoke with Rachelle while I was making a salad (a good one, too).
“I’ll call you when I get back from the Card Show. Is that okay?”
“Oh all right.”
“Wait a minute Dale wants to talk to you.”
“Hi Rachelle…Michael’s in the shower now so you can tell me anything.”
I was really upstairs, listening on the other phone line. I found out that Rachelle has been confiding in him all along. I don’t like it!
Rachelle said, “I have some ideas to get into his journal.”
I couldn’t believe she was sharing ideas about plotting against me. What a ruthless one she is. Dale helped her, too.
Dale said, “I just want to warn you because I’m sure there’s some bad stuff about me in that journal. I don’t want you to hold it against me.”
She giggled.
I couldn’t believe it. Neither one of them knew I was eavesdropping on the phone upstairs.

Dale and I went outside and I was very suspicious at this point.
Dale asked, “What color car does Rachelle have?”
“Silver, why?”
Apparently, Rachelle was right around the corner. Dale was going to leave the door open for her to rummage through my journals. If she did read my journal it would be scary. Then again, I guess it would depend on what parts she was reading. How would I explain?

Dale couldn’t hold back and gave me his usual “I told you so” line. He had warned me before that Rachelle would try to get her hands on my journal.
“Rachelle reminds me of me at her age,” Dale confided.
I certainly thought that was scary. I also learned that Rachelle had told Dale about the fact that I had told Rachelle that I was a virgin (in terms of intercourse with only her). Dale was just flabbergasted. I was embarrassed and simply denied it.
“That’s not true!”
I thought I weaseled my way out of it—but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Only “I” know the extent of my virginity—NOT my journal or anyone else. It pisses me off that Rachelle tells Dale about our having sex and stuff like that when she turns around and asks me, “Did you tell Dale about us?”
I remember my answer clearly, “No, why?”
“Oh because Dale said something about the NIGHT I spent the night with you, so I was wondering.”
I am dumbfounded. I am curious about her.
I explained to Dale, “Rachelle is that curious way because she watches too may soap-operas.”
The funny thing is that Dale watched a lot of soap-operas and so did I in our teen years. It just bothered me that Dale had that continued pressure on me with his words about the suspicions of my being a virgin. I think I chopped his curiosity in half.

Dale and I came home and drank Margarita’s. Dale made his homemade spaghetti. It was all good. Marty came and joined us. Boo Hoo. We transferred the feast to my mom’s house for mom, Dad, John, Sherri and Ashley to get their spoonfuls. There was so much food leftover.

Dale also made me some ice-cream, too. He is so kind in some respects. I made accusations earlier about him spilling the beans on unnecessary information about Karyn Kossoff and me. Why did he have to say these things to Rachelle? Shit! What a troublemaker.

Dale left after the big decision I made about NOT going over to Rachelle’s house tonight. It was late and I simply enjoyed being home, eating ice-cream. I did telephone Rachelle before I went to bed. We had a lovey-dovey chat. I reminisced about our last meeting and the next one.
“Rodney is getting all excited,” I said.
She laughed.
“Why don’t you leave your house key under the doormat for tomorrow?”
“I can do that.”
“Great, because then I can come meet you after work.”
“Okay,” I said, realizing that I will have to be sure that all of my journals will accompany me to work tomorrow.

Then she saw his childlike boyish smile, which she took for a redeeming feature.
-Stieg Larsson
"The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo"