Dancing at the Ramada Inn
Paulie was the one who came up with the idea. It was always Paulie. He had the vivid imagination, the false bravado, and just enough poor decision-making to come up with somewhat plausible schemes that usually ended in disaster. We were hanging out on the bench on Nostrand and Ave V outside of Joey's housing project along with Paulie's younger brother Tony and Vinny who was the youngest at 17. The rest of us were 18 or 19.
"Hey, you guys heard about the DJ they have at the Ramada Inn on Saturday nights? They play a lot of oldies from the 70's. You know why? It attracts a lot of older ladies looking for younger guys like us. They want young studs for some action. We dance with them a little, get some drinks, and before you know it, they're going to a room with us. Are you guys in for this Saturday?"
There was a long hesitation before I broke the silence.
"I'm in. At least we can have fun dancing to the oldies and have some laughs. Maybe Paulie's right."
"Give me five, Ronny," said Paulie as he slapped my hand.
"There is only one flaw in the plan," I continued, being the only contemplative one in the group. "We are all under 21. Aren't we going to get carded when we order drinks?"
"Sure," answered Paulie. "Don't think I haven't gotten it figured out. You know my uncle Johnny? He knows a guy in Coney Island who makes the best fake IDs. Only twenty bucks a piece and guaranteed to work or your money back."
"Yeah, what can possibly go wrong with that?" I half muttered to myself.
The next Saturday afternoon, I was trying on my collection of sport coats and jeans. I figured that the dressy casual look is what the ladies like. A nice sport jacket, open neck sport shirt, designer jeans, and sneakers. I decided on a tan, corduroy sport jacket with a powder blue shirt, Calvin Klein jeans, and Nike sneakers. Next I had to figure how much gel to use in my hair. I didn't want it to look too shiny, but I liked the fullness it adds when I slicked my hair back. Finally I was ready to pile into Paulie's 2006 souped up two-toned Cadillac, the one with the failing muffler that we had to pray will make the two and a half mile drive to Knapp St. "Jeez, I don't even know how we are supposed to dance to 70's music. Do we need to know the Hustle or the Electric Slide? Maybe we can wait for a ballad and just slow dance," I said to no one in particular, just thinking out loud. I was the one who always overthinks. But then I was the only one who ever had a steady girlfriend that lasted any length of time. I was the only one going to college and probably the only one who read books. Still, thinking is overrated. This time I was just going with the flow.
We walked into the Ramada Inn at precisely 8 o'clock and even though the DJ was supposed to start at 7, there was only a smattering of people at the surrounding tables and only one couple was dancing.
"I told you not to get here so early," said Joey, slapping Paulie's shoulder. "The action probably starts late."
"It's not too early to start scouting the room," I said as I searched for prospects.
My eyes fell on a table with a 40ish platinum blonde wearing bright red lipstick and too much mascara. She had a brunette on her left who looked slightly older, rather plain looking though in a pleasant way. On her right was a heavy set woman with reddish hair and a low cut blouse revealing her ample bosom. You could tell they had been drinking for a while both by the many half filled glasses on the table and the way they were giggling.
"I see targets at 4 o'clock," I half-whispered.
Paulie took a sideways glance as Joey nodded in agreement.
"OK, this is the plan," said Paulie. "Me, Ronny, and Joey are going to ask them to dance. I get the blonde because I drove here. Ronny and Joey have seniority so you pick amongst yourselves. Vinny and Tony, you guys are on your own, but we stay in touch by text."
I stake my claim to the redhead which works out because Joey likes brunettes. We approach the table and Paulie asks the blonde, "Would you ladies like to dance?"
She giggles and replies, "No thanks. I'm not sure we can stand now."
"Aw come on," he says as he takes her hand. She didn’t resist, which Paulie took as a green light for everything that would follow.
The DJ was spinning “Le Freak” and Paulie, who couldn’t dance to save his life, was doing something between a box step and a seizure. The blonde whose name turned out to be Donna didn’t care. She was laughing too hard to notice. Meanwhile Joey had pulled the brunette onto the floor before I even made my move. That left me standing next to the table with the redhead, who was looking up at me with an expression somewhere between amusement and maternal concern.
“You going to ask me or just stand there looking like you’re working on a math problem?”
“I was working up to it,” I said.
Her name was Carol. She said she was 42, taught fourth grade in Canarsie, had been divorced fourteen months, and liked light bondage. She told me all of this before we reached the dance floor, the way people do when they’ve had three drinks and lost their filter.
I attempted to dance to “Boogie Wonderland” and I was clueless as to what to do with my feet and hands. The few steps I learned didn't seem to work with a disco beat. Luckily, Carol didn't seem to notice or care. I think she was more interested in showing off her own moves. Between songs she leaned close and said, “How old are you, really?”
“Twenty-two,” I said, which was the age on the fake ID.
"No way," she said. "You're not a day older than eighteen. I've got two kids older than you." She said it with a knowing smile, the kind you make when you don't care. I laughed nervously.
“I just look younger because of good, clean living. Plus I moisturize a lot.”
Carol laughed heartily.
“You're funny,” she said.
“No, I'm flattered that you think my beauty routine is working.”
Back at the table, Paulie was on his game. He had somehow convinced Donna that he was a successful businessman.
“What kind of business are you in?” she asked.
“I'm in the imports and exports business," he replied.
“Really? What do you import?” she asked.
Paulie paused and thought hard for a few moments. “Um, mostly exports.”
Donna stared back with a blank expression.
“That doesn't make any sense,” she said hesitantly.
“That's why I'm successful," Paulie shot back with self-assuredness in his voice. "I'm an innovator. I call it the circular method."
Across from him, Joey was actually having some success. The brunette, whose name was Linda, seemed genuinely charmed by him. Joey had that effect on people. He wasn't the best-looking guy among us, but he listened when people talked. That alone gave him the edge in conversations. He wasn't out to impress as much as make the other person feel important.
By nine o'clock the room had filled up. The dance floor was packed with women in their thirties and forties dancing to songs our parents played in the car.
Tony texted the group.
MISSION UPDATE.
I GOT A PHONE NUMBER.
VINNY GOT REJECTED BY A WOMAN WHO SAID SHE REMEMBERED THE NIXON ADMINISTRATION
Vinny immediately replied.
NOT FUNNY.
SHE SAID CARTER.
The night felt strangely magical. Maybe Paulie had been right. Perhaps there really was a secret world where older women wanted to hook up with awkward teenagers masquerading as young studs. It felt like we were all about to become legends. Then the bubble finally burst. A tall, wiry man with a fedora and a wiseguy attitude walked over to our table. He exchanged a glance with the women. A very practiced glance, the kind of glance people use when discussing business. Donna stood up.
“So, boys,” she said. “You having fun?”
“Absolutely,” said Paulie.
“Good.”
She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. I thought Paulie might actually pass out. Then the tall guy spoke.
“You boys looking for company tonight?”
Paulie grinned. “That depends.”
The man nodded toward the elevator. “For two hundred an hour, I can arrange company.”
A silence hung over the room like a fog. Paulie looked at Donna. Donna looked back at Paulie. Carol looked at me. Then all three women glanced at each other and started giggling. Paulie's smile slowly collapsed.
“Wait,” he said. “You mean...”
Donna wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh honey.”
I turned to Carol.
"So you're not a fourth-grade teacher from Canarsie? You made all that up?"
"I had to," she replied. "You looked like you were going to run if I told you the truth. The bondage part is true though for a little bit extra."
The truth rolled over us like a wave. Everything suddenly made sense. Paulie looked like a man discovering gravity.
“You mean this whole place is...”
“Not everybody,” Carol said. “But enough of us.”
For a moment none of us knew what to say.
Finally, Paulie looked at the man and stammered, "Um, ugh, we don't have that kind of money."
Then Vinny appeared from nowhere.
“You see?” he shouted. “I told you it was too easy.”
The women laughed even harder. Even I had to laugh. We'd driven across Brooklyn with fake IDs, borrowed cologne, and fantasies stolen from X-rated movies. We thought we were hunters, but it turned out we were the prey. At around ten o'clock people began leaving. The women gathered their purses. The illusion was over. Yet something unexpected happened. Carol squeezed my arm.
“You're a sweet kid, Ronny.”
“Kid?”
“You're eighteen.”
“Nineteen.”
“Same thing.”
I wasn't sure whether to be insulted.
“Well, it was fun,” she continued, glancing at the rest of us. "But you boys with your fake IDs should go back home to your mommies. We have to get back to work.”
For once, I had no smart answer. Outside, the summer air felt cool. The women got into a taxi that disappeared around the corner.
For a long while nobody spoke on the ride home. Finally Joey broke the silence.
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” I agreed.
Vinny shook his head.
“We drove all the way here for nothing.”
“Not true,” said Tony. “I got a phone number.”
“From who?”
Tony held up a crumpled piece of paper. We all leaned in. The paper read:
SAL'S AUTO REPAIR SHOP
FREE ESTIMATES
Tony turned the paper over and there was a number scribbled on the other side. He put his phone on speaker and dialed the number with a smug look on his face. A high-pitched squeal sounded while a recorded voice said, "The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again." The laughter started with Joey. Then everyone else, even Tony. Especially Tony. A week later the Cadillac's muffler finally fell off on Flatbush Avenue. Sal's Auto Shop gave us a discount when we showed them the flyer which had a coupon attached. And every time we passed the Ramada Inn afterward, Paulie would point at it and say:
“Boys, that's the place where my plan went to die.”
It was, after all, just like every other plan. It works until it doesn't. And for one Saturday night, we all believed it would work. I realized the clash between the plan and reality is just part of the process of growing up.
"Hey, you guys heard about the DJ they have at the Ramada Inn on Saturday nights? They play a lot of oldies from the 70's. You know why? It attracts a lot of older ladies looking for younger guys like us. They want young studs for some action. We dance with them a little, get some drinks, and before you know it, they're going to a room with us. Are you guys in for this Saturday?"
There was a long hesitation before I broke the silence.
"I'm in. At least we can have fun dancing to the oldies and have some laughs. Maybe Paulie's right."
"Give me five, Ronny," said Paulie as he slapped my hand.
"There is only one flaw in the plan," I continued, being the only contemplative one in the group. "We are all under 21. Aren't we going to get carded when we order drinks?"
"Sure," answered Paulie. "Don't think I haven't gotten it figured out. You know my uncle Johnny? He knows a guy in Coney Island who makes the best fake IDs. Only twenty bucks a piece and guaranteed to work or your money back."
"Yeah, what can possibly go wrong with that?" I half muttered to myself.
The next Saturday afternoon, I was trying on my collection of sport coats and jeans. I figured that the dressy casual look is what the ladies like. A nice sport jacket, open neck sport shirt, designer jeans, and sneakers. I decided on a tan, corduroy sport jacket with a powder blue shirt, Calvin Klein jeans, and Nike sneakers. Next I had to figure how much gel to use in my hair. I didn't want it to look too shiny, but I liked the fullness it adds when I slicked my hair back. Finally I was ready to pile into Paulie's 2006 souped up two-toned Cadillac, the one with the failing muffler that we had to pray will make the two and a half mile drive to Knapp St. "Jeez, I don't even know how we are supposed to dance to 70's music. Do we need to know the Hustle or the Electric Slide? Maybe we can wait for a ballad and just slow dance," I said to no one in particular, just thinking out loud. I was the one who always overthinks. But then I was the only one who ever had a steady girlfriend that lasted any length of time. I was the only one going to college and probably the only one who read books. Still, thinking is overrated. This time I was just going with the flow.
We walked into the Ramada Inn at precisely 8 o'clock and even though the DJ was supposed to start at 7, there was only a smattering of people at the surrounding tables and only one couple was dancing.
"I told you not to get here so early," said Joey, slapping Paulie's shoulder. "The action probably starts late."
"It's not too early to start scouting the room," I said as I searched for prospects.
My eyes fell on a table with a 40ish platinum blonde wearing bright red lipstick and too much mascara. She had a brunette on her left who looked slightly older, rather plain looking though in a pleasant way. On her right was a heavy set woman with reddish hair and a low cut blouse revealing her ample bosom. You could tell they had been drinking for a while both by the many half filled glasses on the table and the way they were giggling.
"I see targets at 4 o'clock," I half-whispered.
Paulie took a sideways glance as Joey nodded in agreement.
"OK, this is the plan," said Paulie. "Me, Ronny, and Joey are going to ask them to dance. I get the blonde because I drove here. Ronny and Joey have seniority so you pick amongst yourselves. Vinny and Tony, you guys are on your own, but we stay in touch by text."
I stake my claim to the redhead which works out because Joey likes brunettes. We approach the table and Paulie asks the blonde, "Would you ladies like to dance?"
She giggles and replies, "No thanks. I'm not sure we can stand now."
"Aw come on," he says as he takes her hand. She didn’t resist, which Paulie took as a green light for everything that would follow.
The DJ was spinning “Le Freak” and Paulie, who couldn’t dance to save his life, was doing something between a box step and a seizure. The blonde whose name turned out to be Donna didn’t care. She was laughing too hard to notice. Meanwhile Joey had pulled the brunette onto the floor before I even made my move. That left me standing next to the table with the redhead, who was looking up at me with an expression somewhere between amusement and maternal concern.
“You going to ask me or just stand there looking like you’re working on a math problem?”
“I was working up to it,” I said.
Her name was Carol. She said she was 42, taught fourth grade in Canarsie, had been divorced fourteen months, and liked light bondage. She told me all of this before we reached the dance floor, the way people do when they’ve had three drinks and lost their filter.
I attempted to dance to “Boogie Wonderland” and I was clueless as to what to do with my feet and hands. The few steps I learned didn't seem to work with a disco beat. Luckily, Carol didn't seem to notice or care. I think she was more interested in showing off her own moves. Between songs she leaned close and said, “How old are you, really?”
“Twenty-two,” I said, which was the age on the fake ID.
"No way," she said. "You're not a day older than eighteen. I've got two kids older than you." She said it with a knowing smile, the kind you make when you don't care. I laughed nervously.
“I just look younger because of good, clean living. Plus I moisturize a lot.”
Carol laughed heartily.
“You're funny,” she said.
“No, I'm flattered that you think my beauty routine is working.”
Back at the table, Paulie was on his game. He had somehow convinced Donna that he was a successful businessman.
“What kind of business are you in?” she asked.
“I'm in the imports and exports business," he replied.
“Really? What do you import?” she asked.
Paulie paused and thought hard for a few moments. “Um, mostly exports.”
Donna stared back with a blank expression.
“That doesn't make any sense,” she said hesitantly.
“That's why I'm successful," Paulie shot back with self-assuredness in his voice. "I'm an innovator. I call it the circular method."
Across from him, Joey was actually having some success. The brunette, whose name was Linda, seemed genuinely charmed by him. Joey had that effect on people. He wasn't the best-looking guy among us, but he listened when people talked. That alone gave him the edge in conversations. He wasn't out to impress as much as make the other person feel important.
By nine o'clock the room had filled up. The dance floor was packed with women in their thirties and forties dancing to songs our parents played in the car.
Tony texted the group.
MISSION UPDATE.
I GOT A PHONE NUMBER.
VINNY GOT REJECTED BY A WOMAN WHO SAID SHE REMEMBERED THE NIXON ADMINISTRATION
Vinny immediately replied.
NOT FUNNY.
SHE SAID CARTER.
The night felt strangely magical. Maybe Paulie had been right. Perhaps there really was a secret world where older women wanted to hook up with awkward teenagers masquerading as young studs. It felt like we were all about to become legends. Then the bubble finally burst. A tall, wiry man with a fedora and a wiseguy attitude walked over to our table. He exchanged a glance with the women. A very practiced glance, the kind of glance people use when discussing business. Donna stood up.
“So, boys,” she said. “You having fun?”
“Absolutely,” said Paulie.
“Good.”
She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. I thought Paulie might actually pass out. Then the tall guy spoke.
“You boys looking for company tonight?”
Paulie grinned. “That depends.”
The man nodded toward the elevator. “For two hundred an hour, I can arrange company.”
A silence hung over the room like a fog. Paulie looked at Donna. Donna looked back at Paulie. Carol looked at me. Then all three women glanced at each other and started giggling. Paulie's smile slowly collapsed.
“Wait,” he said. “You mean...”
Donna wiped tears from her eyes. “Oh honey.”
I turned to Carol.
"So you're not a fourth-grade teacher from Canarsie? You made all that up?"
"I had to," she replied. "You looked like you were going to run if I told you the truth. The bondage part is true though for a little bit extra."
The truth rolled over us like a wave. Everything suddenly made sense. Paulie looked like a man discovering gravity.
“You mean this whole place is...”
“Not everybody,” Carol said. “But enough of us.”
For a moment none of us knew what to say.
Finally, Paulie looked at the man and stammered, "Um, ugh, we don't have that kind of money."
Then Vinny appeared from nowhere.
“You see?” he shouted. “I told you it was too easy.”
The women laughed even harder. Even I had to laugh. We'd driven across Brooklyn with fake IDs, borrowed cologne, and fantasies stolen from X-rated movies. We thought we were hunters, but it turned out we were the prey. At around ten o'clock people began leaving. The women gathered their purses. The illusion was over. Yet something unexpected happened. Carol squeezed my arm.
“You're a sweet kid, Ronny.”
“Kid?”
“You're eighteen.”
“Nineteen.”
“Same thing.”
I wasn't sure whether to be insulted.
“Well, it was fun,” she continued, glancing at the rest of us. "But you boys with your fake IDs should go back home to your mommies. We have to get back to work.”
For once, I had no smart answer. Outside, the summer air felt cool. The women got into a taxi that disappeared around the corner.
For a long while nobody spoke on the ride home. Finally Joey broke the silence.
“Well,” he said.
“Well,” I agreed.
Vinny shook his head.
“We drove all the way here for nothing.”
“Not true,” said Tony. “I got a phone number.”
“From who?”
Tony held up a crumpled piece of paper. We all leaned in. The paper read:
SAL'S AUTO REPAIR SHOP
FREE ESTIMATES
Tony turned the paper over and there was a number scribbled on the other side. He put his phone on speaker and dialed the number with a smug look on his face. A high-pitched squeal sounded while a recorded voice said, "The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again." The laughter started with Joey. Then everyone else, even Tony. Especially Tony. A week later the Cadillac's muffler finally fell off on Flatbush Avenue. Sal's Auto Shop gave us a discount when we showed them the flyer which had a coupon attached. And every time we passed the Ramada Inn afterward, Paulie would point at it and say:
“Boys, that's the place where my plan went to die.”
It was, after all, just like every other plan. It works until it doesn't. And for one Saturday night, we all believed it would work. I realized the clash between the plan and reality is just part of the process of growing up.
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