We Were Beautiful Once by Joseph Carvalko Page A

politics.”  With that, Trent walked over and pushed Jack in the pool.  The guys laughed, the discussion ended and Jack, blinking rapidly, looked up at Tracy, who stormed into the house.  Trent took a long swig of beer.  His friends were onto a different topic.
    When Jack went home that night, he had met his mother coming in from work, beaten down from two shifts at the hospital.  He thought about how different his friends were, not because they were rich, not because they weren’t Catholics, and not because they were Republicans, but because they worked differently and thought differently.  They’d never had to witness mothers trekking miles of greasy factory floors or Lysol scented hallways. They had money, power, call it what you will, but it guaranteed that they’d never fail.
    ***
    Tracy thought that Jack seemed lost.  “Jack, Jack, are you in this world?”
    â€œSorry, I was looking at the band.”
    â€œLook at me, please.”
    â€œTrace, I’m a bit overwhelmed.  Guess I didn’t expect this many people.”
    â€œRelax, you look really handsome. I've never seen you in a tux before.”  She touched his cheek. “Monkey Cliff,” she said, teasing him with what her girlfriends called him.  He blushed like when he had first heard it.
    â€œYou look swell. I mean beautiful.”  He’d never said this to a girl before and was afraid it sounded phony.
    Smiling now, Tracy looked Jack straight in the eye.  “Well, Mr. Jack, I think that’s the first compliment you ever gave me.”
    â€œYou know I get tongue tied.”  He put his hand on the small of her back and looked past her where he spied her old man next to the bar.  A large man with thick silver hair, he could easily be mistaken for an ex-pro football player.  Tracy followed Jack’s gaze.  “Let’s say hi to Daddy.”  She grabbed his hand.  “You’re cold, Jack,” she said, “you’re not shaking, are you?”
    â€œNo, just... ” Jack did not press the thought. He knew Tracy played games with her father, bringing him all sorts of things—from wounded birds to weird friends—to get a reaction; maybe Jack was one of those “things.” She either tried getting his approval or shocking him, depending on her end game. At this point, Jack fit somewhere, but he didn’t know exactly where.  Maybe she wanted the old man to see him dressed in a tux.
    Â Jack was aware of heads turning as they walked across the floor.  Athletically built, within a quarter-inch of six feet, he looked military trained, head back, eyes straight ahead.  Although this was the first time, he wore the tux with the confidence of a man who had worn one countless times—impeccably creased, without fold or wrinkle, from bow tie to black shoes.
    Hamilton was a man accustomed to having other men hang on his every utterance.  Surrounding him were two local politicians Jeb Brookfield, Fairview’s alcoholic selectman, and Gerry Mason, listless Town Clerk.  Both were shaking their heads.
    â€œDaddy!” said Tracy, insistently.
    Jack felt from when he had first met Hamilton that the old man did not like him, or at least did not like him dating Tracy, so when Tracy confessed that, “Daddy thinks I’m too young to be dating you,” and a month later, “Daddy thinks I need to find someone closer to home,” Jack wasn’t surprised.  When he was with the pool crowd, Hamilton never gave Jack the chance to talk, cutting him off before he’d get to the end of a sentence.  Jack had told Tracy, “Your father can’t stand me, Jack Prado O’Conner, dating his only daughter.”  
    She had replied, “Jack you’re imagining what’s not there. Daddy just isn’t that warm of a guy.”
    â€œDaddy,” Tracy persisted, in a voice loud enough to