December 11, 2002

Today is the day to to drink cheap champagne.

28

Tom worked at the Shell Gasoline station in central Evanston, Illinois, which was famous for being the station where all the cute guys worked. Even though the men of the town were oblivious to this fact, women and girls came specifically to this station to pump their gas, fill their tires and get their oil checked, even though there were several other stations in town.

Tom was no exception, either. He had neither George's sloppy corpulence or Meredith's pinched sharpness. He was actually older than George, 26, but looked like the youngest, with cherubic dark curls, dark blue eyes, long thick girlish eyelashes and an easy, shy smile. Every female who came into contact with him felt at once attracted to and protective of him, and he had a jocular, sincere way about him that kept other men from being jealous of him.

George, though, felt no envy of his brother's good looks (at least, according to him), because he so pitied his small mind. Tom, though, of course, did not have a small mind and was not stupid. Tom was actually possibly the most intelligent of the Foreman children--George was simply blessed with more natural skill and Meredith with more drive. However, he was one of the stereotypical cases where he had no interest in actual academia and learning, plus, he detested the competition that he saw in higher learning. So it was sometimes easy to see a simplicity in Tom, where a good-naturedness lie in exchange of a college degree.

George, with some difficulty in finding the gas station, drove up to the station in a hateful insectlike rental car (the agency had misplaced his request for a luxury sedan.). He rolled down his window to see his brother conversing with a smitten-looking 40-ish woman.

"Okay, Mrs. Weinfield. You take care now, and say hi to the family for me. See you soon!"

Mrs. Weinfield, speechless and beaming, drove off in her Volvo.

George, despite the smallness of his car, had managed to block three gas pumps simultaneously, and a line of cars waited behind him, honks politely tapping. Tom, even patient, leaned down to the car window.

"Can I help you--George!"

He said it with such unabashed enthusiasm that even George had to smile.

"I thought we were meeting at your hotel."

The fact was was that Evanston didn't have any of the cushy hotels that George was close to. They weren't bad or dirty, but they weren't the Four Seasons. Tom had magnaminously offered to share his apartment with George, but George didn't even want to see the place. He imagined cockroaches and grease stains striping the walls (but the truth was, Tom was obsessively neat. George's house would be a hovel if it weren't for his housekeeper.

"I was just excited to see you," said George, who had already slipped into insincere mode. "Do you get off soon? We can go get some beers."

"Sure, just let me change. I got off about an hour ago, but I was sticking around to help out. Do you want to stay here, or go into the city?"

"Whichever you prefer."

"Okay, well, why don't we get dinner? There's a new restaurant in town, kind of a fancy place that you might like."

George, slipping from insincere to snobby, imagined a tavern that served the delicacy of light beer.

"While I'm changing, do you want to meet the guys? They're all really excited to meet you. I've told them all about you."

George began to demur. The last thing he wanted was to meet a bunch of grease monkeys who probably didn't even know who he was, bu the next thing he knew, he was surrounded by a group of mechanics as handsome and charming as Tom, all with copies of George's latest book to sign.