THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY CHAPTER ONE: THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER Written by Rick Archer

INTRODUCTION

Rick Archer's Note:  The Year of Living Dangerously is an absolutely ridiculous but true story.  It explains how the interaction of ten women led to the creation of the largest dance studio in America.  No exaggeration is necessary to cause Readers to drop their jaws repeatedly at the utter insanity of their antics.  Living Dangerously is the sequel to my two previous books.  The Hidden Hand of God covered my childhood experiences all the way to the start of graduate school at age 24.  Magic Carpet Ride explains what happened in graduate school and covers the unusual events during the first year of my dance career in 1978.  Although 1979 was the official "Year" in The Year of Living Dangerously, we will start our tale in the Summer of 1978.  It is not necessary to have read my earlier books to appreciate this saga.  Don't worry, I will add periodic review to help newcomers catch up. Before we begin, Readers should be warned that all my books revolve around the possibility that "Fate" is just as much a fact of life as oxygen and gravity.  I firmly believe that each of us has a Destiny chosen before birth.  It becomes our job to learn through experience as we encounter each predestined challenge.  Is it necessary to agree with me in order to enjoy this book?  No.  The story is so crazy you are certain to be entertained whether you agree with my metaphysical musings or not.  That said, this book is like a TV show.  Every now and then, I will pause in order to post an advertisement about Fate.  That is the price you will have to pay in order to read a truly strange story.

October 1978.  BEAUTIFUL WOMAN #9 OF TEN: THE GIRL WHO KISSED THE WRONG FROG

Now that I have eased my conscience over my threat to subject Readers to repeated doses of Fate, let me introduce Patricia.  I realize it is a bit odd to start with the next-to-last woman in our Hit Parade, but the story of Patricia is so interesting, she is the perfect lead-off batter.  Why?  Because this is the story of ten women who created the Year of Living Dangerously. Patricia was definitely one of the most lethal.

I do not believe every minute of our life is predetermined.  What I do believe is that certain hurdles are predestined and it becomes our job to deal with them.  I also believe that certain lucky breaks are scheduled as well.  I do not believe everyone we meet is meant to play a special role in our life.  However there will be a limited number of people who are meant to have a great influence upon us.  My favorite term for people like these are 'Karmic Relationships', a concept popular in Eastern Religion.

Because most Karmic Relationships are difficult, they represent a significant challenge to our patience.  These relationships are rarely pleasant, but the turmoil tends to foster personal growth.  We may not be happy about it, but we are bound to learn something.  Some Karmic Relationships are positive, mentors and benefactors for example.  Most, however, are tumultuous and unstable.  The conflict will often push individuals to confront painful unresolved issues from their past.  One thing all Karmic Relationships have in common is that the person is unforgettable.  In addition, they often change the direction of a person's life in a notable way.  One such person is Patricia.  If asked, what would Patricia say about me?  "That asshole tricked me!"  Although The Princess would probably claim I misled her, that was not true.  Patricia saw what she wanted to see and acted accordingly.  That said, I was well aware from the start that Patricia had made a profound mistake.  Perhaps it was indiscrete of me to say nothing, but I wanted to keep her around.  For that reason I chose not to clear up her misconception.  So what exactly did Patricia do wrong?  She kissed the wrong frog.  As one can guess, that would be me.  Patricia intended to marry a rich man.  For reasons I will explain in due time, she thought I was rich when in reality I was poor.  Oops. This is the story of the Princess and the Pauper.

1959 THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN

Where to begin?  Tough question.  There are so many places.  Since some Readers will know little of my past, let's go all the way back to my father's Mistress.  It is 1959.  Age 9, I am an only child born to two really lousy parents.  My parents were badly mismatched.  Jim was an only child who grew up poor with no father and a crazy mother.  Mary grew up wealthy with two parents and three siblings.  My father was a handsome man, my mother was plain and overweight.  My father needed a meal ticket to afford college.  My mother was easy pickings.  Like a fool, she dropped out of college to support Jim while he got a degree in electrical engineering.  That would come back to haunt her.  They did have one thing in common.  They were super-bright.  As a result, they were excellent sparring partners during their frequent arguments.  They both knew exactly what to say in order to hurt the other person's feelings. Ten years into the marriage, Dad became grouchy.  He did not like his wife nor did he like his job.  My father will one day be a superb electrical engineer with a national reputation.  However at the moment he was a lowly salesmen who sold electrical equipment.  Frustrated at being denied work at what he was really good at, he initiated a torrid affair with the hot secretary at work.  My father was dying to marry his mistress, so he asked my mother for a divorce.  Did Mary know about the Mistress?  She had no proof, but she probably suspected as much.  Mary didn't like Jim, Jim didn't like Mary, but he had a big advantage: Jim had a job and a college degree.  My mother had no job skills.  Well aware that Texas divorce law heavily favored her husband, Mary said no.

For those of who will wonder why I was so consistently screwed-up when dealing with women during The Year of Living Dangerously, look no further than 1959.  This was one of the worst years of my life.  Every night when my father came home from work, he would pick a fight with my mother.  His favorite argument starter was her alleged laziness.   One second after he hung up his hat, Jim would walk over to a piece of furniture and run his finger across the top.  Any sign of dust was ample fodder for another incredibly nasty argument.  "I work my ass off all day long and all you do is sit there watching TV!" What was my father's motive?  He wanted my mother to despise him so much that she would grant him his divorce.  Listening to my parents scream and say horrible things, I would run to the bedroom with my dog Terry.  I would wrap my arms around him and cry my heart out till I fell asleep.  Even when they weren't screaming, I could still hear them through thin walls.  I discovered if I buried myself in a good book about Greek Mythology, I could tune them out.  My favorite hero was Achilles, the mighty Greek warrior.  I was stunned when Achilles was killed by a poisoned arrow shot by a coward named Paris from one hundred yards away.  I may have been a kid, but even at age 9 I had a well-developed sense of skepticism.  There's no way anyone can hit a target as small as the heel of Achilles from that far away.  Paris must have had help.  Sure enough, it was revealed the God Apollo had guided that arrow.  It was also revealed that Achilles was prophesized to die young.  This story served as my introduction to Fate. Given that Achilles was Fated to die during the Trojan War, Apollo made sure the prophecy came true.  Of course I was not dumb enough to assume this famous mythological event was proof that Divine Intervention is actually a part of life.  However, it did open my eyes to the idea that when weird things happen, there might be a Hidden Hand involved.  For this reason, I have always believed my acceptance into St. John's School was a Fated Event.  I had no business being at this school.  It was a fluke of the highest magnitude.  However, since it is too early in the book to start blaming everything on Fate, let's look for some realistic reasons to explain how a kid who was failing the 3rd grade ended up at the toughest academic school in the city.  Or why a father drawing a so-so middle class income suddenly decided to send his underachieving son to the most expensive school in the city. Would you like a reason?  Okay, let's start with the Mistress.  Despite how much I came to hate this woman for ruining my life, truth be told I owed my extraordinary education to her.  Thanks to the Mistress, my parents made a Devil's Bargain.

1959 ST. JOHN'S SCHOOL

Keep in mind that I was an only child.  No friendly neighbors, no nearby relatives, no kindly teacher.  Given that I had no one to turn to other than my dog Terry, it is no surprise that the extreme tension between my parents drove me crazy.  Incredibly angry, deeply insecure, I began to act out in school.  I sat in the back and drew pictures of space ships.  Once the drawings were complete, I conducted Star War battles complete with eerie sound effects.  I assumed no one could hear me, but quite the contrary.  When told to knock it off, I sassed back in defiance.  Needless to say, I was a huge disruption.  Nor was I paying much attention.  My grades hovered just above failing.  No longer willing to tolerate my poor behavior, the principal summoned my parents.  His message was blunt.  Do something about your kid or else. Most parents would have a general idea what the problem was.  And I suppose my parents had an inkling.  But what should they do about it?  They decided to have me evaluated by Dr. Mendel, an eminent psychiatrist.  So one day they hauled me to his office.  I guess they expected some sort of family therapy, but Dr. Mendel said he wanted to speak to me alone.  After an hour or so, he asked me to go sit in the waiting area while he spoke to my parents.  The psychiatrist had a suggestion. "Mr. and Mrs. Archer, contrary to what you have told me about your son's performance in school, your son is very bright.  He is also very bored and very unhappy.  In particular, he lacks discipline.  I have a suggestion.  What Richard needs is a challenge.  I highly recommend you put him into St. John's School.  Competing against gifted students is exactly what he needs to cure his boredom.  I have two sons there, Jeff and Mark.  That school is the best thing that ever happened to them." Oh boy, something new to argue about!!  My father took one look at the price tag and nearly had a seizure.  "Jesus Christ, Mary, the boy can barely pass public school.  Now you want to send him to the toughest academic school in the city.  Ridiculous.  Richard will be eaten alive.  Why on earth should I pay all this money just to watch him be annihilated by all those smart rich kids?"

My father paused for dramatic effect, then issued his favorite reason to say no.  "Public school was good enough for me and it will be good enough for Richard!" My mother disagreed.  She suggested a compromise.  "Maybe our son is not as stupid as you think, Jim.  There is no harm in letting him take the entrance exam.  If he fails the exam, at least we will know the reason for his poor performance in Third Grade.  However, if he does pass the exam, then we can talk some more." My father grudgingly agreed, so off to St. John's I went to take the entrance exam.  Personally, I could have cared less whether I did well or not.  I had never heard of St. John's, so the school meant nothing to me.  All I wanted was for my parents to stop fighting all the time.  This had been going on for almost a year.  A week or so later there was a letter in the mail from St. John's.  Not only did I pass the exam, the letter invited me to enter the Fourth Grade starting in September 1959.  This acceptance letter sparked a battle for the ages.  The Trojan War was only half as fierce as the ensuing debate between my parents. This is a good time to say a few words about St. John's School, 'SJS' for short.  St. John's didn't care how important the parents were or how much money they had.  The word 'Exclusive' was coined for SJS.  They 'excluded' a lot of candidates.  Given their limited space for enrollment and long waiting list of applicants, they were forced to be choosy.  As long as you could pay the tuition, all that mattered was how bright the kid was.  For example, there is a well-known legend that a certain future U.S. president failed the entrance exam.  According to the rumor, he was denied entry despite the wealth and prominent political standing of his parents.  St. John's was like Sparta... no weaklings allowed.  SJS wanted academic warriors who would achieve excellence through fierce daily competition to be the best.  True to the school's mandate, every year I would watch as two or three underperforming classmates were weeded out to make room for promising newcomers.  Have I mentioned this school was very expensive?  St. John's was a rich kids school with all the characteristics of elite Eastern prep schools such as Andover and Exeter.  High tuition fees, prestigious reputation, laser focus on preparing students to attend top universities.  Since the word 'Scholarship' was a taboo topic, I have no idea what the statistics were.  I knew a few students who attended on half-scholarships.  However, I was the only person I knew who attended on a full scholarship.  Given that most parents paid full tuition, the only ones who could afford SJS were Texas oil barons and famous heart doctors at the Texas Medical Center.  That meant every one of my classmates came from lofty socioeconomic backgrounds light years above my father's middle class income and lower class upbringing.  Given his impoverished childhood deprived of privilege, my father absolutely hated the place.  He never got a lucky break when he was a kid, so why should I?

Given that I HAD NO BUSINESS ATTENDING THIS SCHOOL, what were my parents thinking?  I already felt inferior as it was due to my intense insecurity, so placing me among the smartest, most confident kids in the city was like sending me into the lion's den.  Basically, I was being set up for failure.  Did I know this?  No, of course not.  I was just a little kid.  Do you think my parents had the sense to explain anything to me?  No, of course not.  They were too busy fighting each other to care about me. Actually that's not completely true.  My mother cared about me.  She also knew the value of a good education.  Her father was a well-paid supervisor for Standard Oil.  Living in a mansion high atop a hill, my mother had a quite comfortable home life.  Unfortunately, it was not a perfect existence.  My mother's soft, pampered life failed to teach her the importance of work ethic.  Since her mother convinced Mary she was homely, she turned to books as her refuge.  Well aware I was just as fond of books as she had been, Mary had a hunch the psychiatrist's advice was correct.  Maybe a strong academic challenge would straighten me out.  It was a gamble, but given how sick I was, maybe this extreme measure was called for.

During a particularly bitter argument, my mother became exasperated.  This ongoing test of wills was like World War I trench fare.  Neither Jim nor Mary would give an inch despite month after month.  Frustrated with the impasse, Mary had a new suggestion. "Okay, Jim, I give up, you can have your divorce.  Split the assets 50-50, pay child support and be responsible for Richard's medical insurance.  Oh, and one more thing.  You will pay his tuition at St. John's for three years.  This is non-negotiable." My father balked immediately.  He was very reluctant to send me.  Too expensive.  Bunch of snobs.  Huge waste of money.  Public school had been good enough for him, it would be good enough for me.  Sick and tired of the impasse, Mom played her trump card.  She had a strong suspicion Dad was having an affair with his secretary.  However, it was just a hunch.  Gambling that her intuition was right, Mom claimed she had all the necessary evidence.  She threatened to clean him out unless he did the right thing by their son.  Mind you, Mom had no evidence.  It was a complete bluff.  But Mom said it with so much certainty that my father turned white and froze. Although the subject of his mistress had never come up before, he believed my mother.  Although I have given the impression that Dad had the upper hand, that was not correct.   My father's meanness was just a front.  Deep down my father was not a strong man.  Due to his domineering mother, Dad had a difficult time standing up to women [a bad trait sad to say that I inherited].  Since Mom was right about the affair, Dad lacked the guts to tell her to prove it.  Instead he completely caved in.

A guilty conscience perhaps?  Whatever the reason, my mother had just successfully blackmailed me into St. John's.  Earlier I mentioned I had a full scholarship.  That was not entirely accurate.  The divorce settlement included my father's agreement to send me to St. John's for three years... 4th, 5th, and 6th grades.  Paying full tuition, my father was so broke he had to take out a loan.  In addition, the new Mrs. Archer was forced to keep working just to help make ends meet.  Imagine how well that sat with her.  When Dad refused to continue paying after the 6th grade, SJS gave me a half-scholarship and my uncle paid the bill for two years.  When he could no longer afford to pay, St. John's decided I was too good a student to see go.  That is when they extended the full scholarship till graduation.  So there you have it, the Devil's Bargain.  My mother traded her husband for my school.  Considering this gesture was done at great risk to her own financial security, it was a noble action.  This was definitely the nicest thing my mother ever did for me.  As for my father, he hung around for a year.  However, once he remarried he lost interest in me.  Knuckling under to the Mistress who preferred to keep us apart, my father limited his time to lunch four times a year.  Meanwhile my mother fell to pieces after the divorce.  She couldn't hold a job and spent most of her free time chasing men in bars.  Left alone most of the time, at age nine I began the difficult process of raising myself.  I didn't do a very good job.  Growing up twisted and gnarled, I was riddled with insecurity and feelings of inferiority.  Which was a shame because I was not inferior.  But who was going to tell me otherwise?

We now interrupt this story for a word from Fate, the sponsor of this book.  Although I firmly believe my acceptance into St. John's was a Fated Event, I do not wish to insult my Reader by insisting you agree with me.  I prefer to lay out my case, then let you, the Jury, decide for yourself.  Starting at age 20, 1970 to be specific, I began keeping a List of every event in my life that struck me as out of the ordinary.  Here as I write in 2025, over the years the List has grown to 120 events. What is the purpose of the List?  It has been said that a Coincidence is a small miracle in which God chooses to remain anonymous.  Is this true?  At age 20, I wanted very much to believe in God's existence.  However, I was plagued with doubt at the time.  Where could I go for proof?  At the time I had encountered a series of six very strange coincidences in the space of nine months.  I could think of a possible realistic explanation for a couple of these events, but the other four coincidences were so strange they defied reason based on my current view of Reality.  Suddenly I was full of doubt as to what was going on.  It is easy to dismiss an isolated coincidence, but I was looking at six in a row.  As scary as it was to admit, after careful analysis I had no choice but to entertain the possibility of Divine Intervention.  These events were so unusual and so improbable that they appeared to be orchestrated by a Hidden Hand.  But how could I be sure?  In a book titled Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Swiss psychotherapist Carl Jung suggested that paranormal events such as precognitive dreams, premonitions, ghosts, ESP, and coincidences might turn out to be natural events for which science had not yet advanced far enough to comprehend.  In particular, I noticed Jung's emphasis on coincidence.  "The problem of Synchronicity has puzzled me for a long time, ever since my middle twenties when I was investigating the phenomena of the collective unconscious.  I kept on coming across connections which I simply could not explain as chance groupings.  What I found were 'coincidences' which were connected so meaningfully that their chance concurrence would represent a degree of improbability that would have to be expressed by an astronomical figure." Carl Jung believed if we knew the truth about how perfectly the Universe was constructed, we would realize no one but God could possibly organize the phenomena of our world in such a profound way. Nothing is happenstance in Jung’s world.  He claimed certain coincidences were very important, then added that most people do not realize their significance.  If people would keep better track of these mysterious events, Jung believed they would come to see their world in a much different way.  At this point, Jung made a suggestion.  If we could somehow gather all these seemingly random coincidences together, we might just see a pattern emerge that implied the existence of Fate.  With that, I decided to take his advice.  I began to keep careful track of every coincidence and event that felt improbable to me.  Whenever something odd happened, I would evaluate it as a 'Suspected' Supernatural Event based on four criteria: Probability, Timing, Impact, and Weirdness.  Let's start with Probability.  My SJS acceptance was not improbable.  I suppose I aced the Entrance Exam.  Why else would they accept me?  Considering over a period of nine years I made the Honor Roll 36 times in a row and graduated 4th in my class, academically I belonged at St. John's.  On the other hand, I was hardly the typical SJS applicant.  If it was not for Dr. Mendel's off the wall suggestion, the issue would never have occurred.  The Devi's Bargain explains how the poorest kid in the history of St. John's was able to enter this exclusive enclave. Timing.  My father could not afford to pay full tuition based on his salary.  The only reason my father would ever agree to send me to St. John's would be his overwhelming desire to marry his Mistress.  Any other time in my parent's marriage, forget about it.  So in that sense, the Timing was critical.  The Impact was incredible.  This would be the luckiest break of my life.  Not only did I receive the finest education imaginable, on more than one occasion my gifted teachers went out of their way to keep me from falling off the deep end.  However, there was a different Impact as well.  This was also the "Unluckiest Break of my Life".  Where do you suppose my deep-seated sense of inferiority came from?  I languished at the very bottom of the SJS social totem pole for nine years.  Was I bullied?  A little, but not really.  Although there were some ugly incidents, by and large my classmates simply ignored me.  I was not one of them, so why bother?  Once I was typecast as the token poor kid, I was unworthy of anyone's attention.  The resulting isolation turned me into a loner with a huge chip on his shoulder. Weirdness.  In my opinion, the story of how a Mistress got me into St. John's is about as 'Weird' as it gets.  Yes, academically I belonged there, but socially I was a misfit from the start.  Not a day passed when I did not receive a reminder that they were rich and I was not.  Given that I lacked any kind of support system, every snub intentional or not became acid to the soul.  Unable to find some way to make close friends, I was reminded time and again I lacked the social skills necessary to be accepted by my peers.  But don't blame my classmates.  I was self-centered, moody, and sarcastic.  I had non-existent listening skills, I was awkward at initiating small talk, and insensitive to the feelings of others.  Given that I was not a likeable kid, I gave my classmates no reason to show interest.  I graduated as a bitter, mixed-up, very screwed-up young man.  Would I have turned out better in public school?  Probably.  However you have play the hand Life deals you.

RICK ARCHER'S LIST OF SUSPECTED SUPERNATURAL EVENTS
003	Suspicious	Lucky Break Unlucky Break	1959	Father's affair leads to Rick's education at St. John's, the most important lucky break of his life. However, as time goes by, Rick's social isolation at a rich kid's school turns him into a moody loner.

OCTOBER 1978 BACK TO PATRICIA

Patricia entered my life in October 1978.  Starting with my problems at St. John's, I had endured ten long years of ceaseless Bad Luck with women.  However, my decade of Bad Luck could be erased in a flash if I could just capture the eye of this stunning beauty.  This is a good time to reveal that I worked two jobs at the time.  I investigated child neglect during the day, I taught Disco at night.  Thanks to an interest in dance lessons dating back to July 1974, I had been hired as a part-time Disco line dance instructor in October 1977.  Three months later Saturday Night Fever exploded out of thin air to sweep the nation with Disco Fever.  Now everyone wanted to get in on the fun.  As a result, my part-time job changed to full-time practically overnight.   The sudden demand for Disco dance lessons led to me teach Disco classes five nights a week from 7-10 pm.  Given how depressing my investigation job was, I fervently hoped that maybe this unexpected Disco job could turn into something permanent.  Unfortunately, I was a long-shot at best.  Due to a distinct lack of dance talent and teaching experience, I stumbled coming out of the starting gate.  Fortunately a series of lucky breaks helped me survive crisis after crisis during the early months.  By the time summer rolled around, I had finally learned enough to eliminate my constant fear of being fired.  Now that I had gained some job security, I began to entertain thoughts of teaching dance for a living. On Thursday, October 12th, Patricia walked into my 8 pm Beginner partner dance class.  Seeing her from across the room, I froze.  What a beautiful woman!  She took my breath away.  However, she was not alone.  Her handsome boyfriend guarded her like a hawk.  As well he should given predators like me.  I was forced to use a risky trick to meet her.  I put on a Disco song and told everyone to practice with someone different.  Under the guise of telling the men to briefly dance with some of the other women in the class, I made sure to rotate to Patricia at the first opportunity.  With her boyfriend stuck dancing with a different girl, I briefly had Venus to myself.  A discrete question revealed her name was Patricia.  She was a truly beautiful woman.  Extraordinary.  Unfortunately, it was time to switch partners.  And so with a deep sigh I rotated to the next woman.  After class, I thought of Patricia.  Considering how powerfully drawn I had been, I wondered if she was the woman who would put an end to my awful Epic Losing Streak with women.  I crossed my fingers.  Considering I caught Patricia making eye contact several times, maybe there was hope for me.  I definitely wanted to get another look at this Beauty Queen with the light brown hair and emerald eyes.  However, first I had to figure out a way to get past her formidable boyfriend, a big, rugged guy named Hank.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1978 RICK MAKES HIS MOVE

I was very excited when Patricia returned to class the following Thursday, October 19.  Unfortunately, her boyfriend Hank was glued to her side.  Noting the invisible handcuffs, this was not going to be easy.  During class, I noticed Patricia bicker with her partner.  She wore a frown on her face the rest of the evening.  Were they having problems?  I certainly hoped so.  What I needed now was an opening.  During class I caught Patricia looking directly at me on two occasions.  There was no invitation in her glance, but this was a good sign.  At least I was on her mind.  Towards the end of class, I saw my chance.  Seeing Hank walk off towards the restroom, I wasted no time.  I put the music on, told everyone to practice, then rushed to Patricia's side.  Trying to act casual, I said, "Where's your dance partner?" "Hank went to the restroom." Okay, here goes nothing.  With my pulse racing, it was now or never.  This was my one and only chance.  "Listen, Patricia, I hate to be so forward, but it seems like you and I have exchanged several glances tonight.  Is there any chance you could give me your phone number?" This was way out of character for me.  In fact, this was by far the boldest move I had ever made with a woman.  Approaching Patricia in such a direct manner was terrifying enough, but this was also the first time I had ever pulled a stunt behind another man's back.  My heart was thumping wildly.  Would it work?  My anxiety grew worse when Patricia did not say a word.  She impassively stood there looking me over.  Her gaze offered no indication of her reaction, so I instantly assumed my scarred face was the likely issue.  But maybe not.  At least she didn't frown. At that moment, her boyfriend reappeared.  I said something cordial to Hank the Hunk, then disengaged to go talk to another couple nearby.  Oh well, at least I tried.  Four long years ago, I had embarked on my Dance Project for the sole reason that I was terrified of approaching attractive women.  At the time, I had believed that asking a girl to dance would help me get to First Base.  It had taken quite a while for my dance skill to take effect, but once it did, my long shot gamble had begun to pay off.  Although I was disappointed that Patricia had not responded, just the fact that I had conquered my Rejection Phobia to speak to her filled me with elation.  As a result, even in failure I was proud of myself.  If I did not know better, this is how they played ball in the 'Boy Meets Girl' Big Leagues.  I watched Patricia carefully for the rest of the class hoping for a sign.  Not once did she glance my way.  In addition, I could not help but notice her boyfriend Hank was very good-looking.  This immediately reminded me of Vanessa, the evil woman who had discarded me in favor of an extremely handsome man four years ago.  Now I felt discouraged.  My scars were permanent; there was nothing I could do about them.  I hated Hank for being so much better looking than me.  So much for my fantasy girl. At the end of class, Patricia and Hank walked right past me.  I was standing still at the time.  Patricia had Hank on her right, me on her left.  To my surprise, I felt her left hand brush against my hip on her way out.  Without a single glance in my direction, she had discretely stuffed her phone number in my back pocket.   Hank never caught on because Patricia was busy talking to him.  It was a classic basketball move... look right, go left.  Very smooth.  Sneaky too.  This was a woman who knew her way around men.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1978 THE 10:30 pm INTERVIEW

I called Patricia the moment I got home that night.  I wasn't wasting any time, certainly not with a woman who looked like Patricia.  As we talked, I realized Patricia was just as smart as she was pretty.  In addition, she was very ambitious.  Patricia had a masters degree in hospital administration.  She worked in a high-level position at one of the city's most prestigious hospitals, adding that her career meant everything to her.  Five minutes into the conversation, Patricia surprised me with a pointed question. "Rick, are you married?" "No." "Have you ever been married?" "No." "I have your word on that, correct?" "Yes, Patricia, you have my word.  Why is this so important?" "Because men have a bad habit of losing their wedding rings when they meet me." Her response made me smile, but then I noticed there was no humor in her voice.  Patricia was not flirting, she was interrogating.  "What about you?" I asked.  "Are you married?" "I have never been married." "Well, I guess we have something in common." That comment was supposed to elicit a chuckle, but Patricia never reacted.  Her questions were so pointed I expected her to ask if I had children out of wedlock.  Instead she asked my age.  28, soon to be 29 in five days.  After revealing she was already 29, Patricia asked a  couple of questions about my dance job.  Oddly enough, for some reason she did not ask what I did during the day.  I guess she assumed teaching dance was my profession.  That was her first mistake.  I was about to mention my day job, but changed my mind.  During my lucky 'Summer of 1978', none of the women I dated had shown much interest in discussing child abuse.  When they learned what my job was, all they did was feel sorry for me.  Assuming Patricia would react with the same disdain, I kept mum. Patricia was so thorough during her examination, I wondered if she had a prepared checklist of questions.  It crossed my mind that Patricia received so many requests for dates that she had learned how to screen men over the phone to avoid wasting time on the unworthy ones.  I didn't mind.  Despite my history of bad luck with women, unless she asked some extremely probing questions, I could handle myself during the interview. During a pause, I spoke up.   "Patricia, you strike me as a serious person.  Your demeanor in dance class was reserved to say the least.  No smiles, no laughter, total concentration.  Now on the phone, you are direct, formal, and in complete control of the conversation.  Where did you learn to be so imposing?"  "I'm not sure that's a compliment, but your analysis is correct.  My father was in the military.  In fact, he rose to the rank of Admiral in the Navy.  Since my father believes strongly in discipline, I was taught to be a proper young lady at an early age.  My mother served as my role model on how to remain poised in the presence of important guests.  She made sure I wore tasteful clothes and taught me how to speak and behave around accomplished people. " "Do you always go by Patricia or do you have a nickname?" "My name is Patricia.  Do not call me 'Pat' or 'Patty'.  Be especially careful not to say 'Patty' around my father.  He will make you walk the gangplank.  If you are not eaten by sharks, he will shoot you instead."

Given the lack of warmth in her voice, Patricia was not teasing.  Holy smokes!  Just who is this girl??  I was having a hard time not feeling intimidated by her formal approach.    "Don't worry, I will never call you 'Patty'.  Trust me, you don't strike me as the 'Patty' type.  I assume Patricia comes from the word 'Patrician'.  Is that correct?" To my surprise, Patricia chuckled.  Hmm.  A breakthrough perhaps? "Ah, yes, the Roman ruling class.  Interesting thought.  I have never heard anyone make that connection."  Finally a touch of warmth.  Faint, but discernable.  I did not know it at the time, but my guess was correct.  The name Patricia comes from the Latin word 'patrician', which means 'noble'.  Sensing an opening, I replied, "Makes sense to me.  When I first saw you, I mistook you for a Goddess.  Now that I know you are human, 'Patrician' is a word that fits you well." This time Patricia laughed.  Nothing like a well-placed compliment.  "Aren't you clever?  Most people don't even know what 'Patrician' means.  And if they do, very few people would dare tease me about it.  I tend to be very serious, especially at work.  I'm not the kind of woman people tell jokes to." Patricia was right about being serious.  I assumed that open displays of emotion were not tolerated due to her strict upbringing.  I also noted Patricia had impeccable enunciation of every word.  In addition, the breadth of her vocabulary during the Interview had been impressive.  "I get the hunch you are the beneficiary of a private school education."  "Yes, but how did you know?" "Only people with extensive education would know what the word 'Patrician' means." "Well, you guessed right.  For that matter, I am a former debutante."

Why was I not surprised?  Patricia reminded me more of the St. John's girls than any woman I had ever met.  Socially, this woman was so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  However, I got the feeling I could match Patricia in the smarts department.  Not only that, I suddenly realized I had a very powerful ace up my sleeve.  Let's see what happens if I play my cards right. "A debutante, eh?  Good for you, Patricia.  You certainly have the look.  Did you go to school here in Houston?" "No.  Mostly eastern schools.  I am not a Texas girl.  I did not come to Texas until my father retired and moved to Austin.  To be honest, since we moved all the time in the military, I went to a half dozen different private schools including a boarding school.  Incidentally, how do you happen to know what 'Patrician' means?" Aha!  Patricia had just taken the bait.

"Like you, Patricia, I went to a private school.  The girls there talked the same way you do.  For that matter, they carried themselves the same way you do, poised, confident, disciplined.  You remind me very much of the girls I went to high school with." Patricia went silent.  I knew exactly what the hush was about.  I had just played my ace card.  Let's see if it works.  There is a concept known as 'cognitive dissonance'.  This occurs when two pieces of information do not add up.  In my case, a job as a dance teacher did not suggest a private school education.  Sure enough, in a voice bordering on incredulity, Patricia whispered, "You went to a private school?" "Yes.  Nine years." Patricia went silent again.  After another pause, Patricia asked, "Where did you go to school?" "A school here in Houston, St. John's." A small gasp.  "Really?  That's a prep school.  Where did you go to college?" "Johns Hopkins." Another gasp.  "Did you really?  I know a half-dozen doctors at my hospital who went there.  They say that's a tough school."

When I did not reply, there was another pause, the longest one to date.  Patricia was the type who preferred to analyze before responding.  This latest pause indicated Patricia had heard of my elite school.  She probably knew St. John's had a reputation as the finest academic school in the city.  No doubt some of the doctors she worked with sent their children there.  That is how she knew SJS was so expensive that only rich kids went there.  However, what Patricia did not know was that I had attended on a full scholarship for much of my time there. For the first nine years of my life, my parents had lived in modest middle class neighborhoods.  However, my standard of living dropped sharply after the divorce.  Once my mother ran through her savings, her inability to keep a job forced us to move repeatedly to avoid paying back rent.  With each move, the quality of my next home invariably dropped another notch.  I knew several middle class students who attended SJS on partial scholarships.  Typically their parents were school teachers or some other noble profession that did not pay well.  Out of morbid curiosity I made it a habit to look up zip codes using the SJS Directory.  Not once did I uncover an address that resembled the Mexican barrio where I lived prior to graduation.  Based on knowledge gained during my years at St. John's, I am fairly certain I was the poorest student to ever graduate.  Is this something Patricia needed to know?  Um, what do you think?  If she had probed a little, I would have told the truth.  As a rule, I do not lie.  However, under no circumstance did I intend to volunteer the information.

As consequence, my omission allowed Patricia to make her second mistake.  Patricia was startled to find a man who possessed an education equivalent to her own.  The fact that I was also single made me about as rare as meeting a yeti in the Himalayas.  Was I the answer to her lengthy search for the Perfect Man?  I cannot know for sure, but I believe Patricia made three important assumptions during this current lull in the conversation.  First, Rick Archer is very well-educated.  Second, since Rick Archer knows how to dance, he would make an excellent escort to her next Princess Ball.  Third, and most important, Rick Archer is rich.  Why would she think that?  Because by definition any kid who went to St. John's for nine years must have had wealthy parents.  Given the lofty social circles Patricia operated in, she knew people from St. John's.  So far every one of them had been Educated and Rich.  That made me just the guy she had been looking for, that one special frog worthy of a very tender kiss.  Well aware that Patricia had suddenly become much warmer over the phone, I asked her to go out with me this coming Saturday night.  Given that Patricia readily accepted, I assume she was thanking her lucky stars at this very moment.  I did not feel guilty, but maybe I did have a twinge of sympathy.  Sooner or later, Patricia was in for a major surprise.  And, trust me, she paid me back.  We will hear more about Patricia in due time.  However, before we continue the Princess and the Pauper, first let's begin meeting the other women.

 

THE YEAR OF LIVING DANGEROUSLY Chapter TWO:  THE EPIC LOSING STREAK