Chapter 4 - Like Becomes Love

I had a boyfriend. Only my second – and the first who never expected more than I was ready to give. Our years long friendship had paved the way for a relationship built on acceptance, understanding and trust. We had (almost) no secret pasts to hide from each other, and we shared the same interests, values and goals. It just felt so easy. From May to July, we were inseparable. His parents were thrilled he had a “normal” girlfriend, and my family immediately welcomed George. We talked – and talked – about life, our hopes and dreams. I met his circle of friends and he met mine. We saw very little of each other on campus, but spent every free moment together. And not once did that nice boy, George, ever ask for more than a hug and kiss at the end of the evening. 

Early George and Paula

July, 1971  While George worked full time all summer at Firestone, I headed north with my parents, to their soon-to-be retirement home in a quaint little hamlet in Northern California. I was their uh-oh, third child – an unplanned “gift” they had not expected in their mid-forties. My college graduation coincided with their retirement schedule, and this trip would be my last family vacation with them. It would also be the first time in months I would not see George on a daily basis.

After work cat nap in his Firestone uniform

Life at my parent’s “home in the forest” was serene. The house needed some TLC, so trips included their fair share of DIY time. On this trip, Mom and I painted the decades old cabinetry, using a popular technique of the 70’s – antiquing. Dad and my nephew, who accompanied us, combined fishing trips with firewood gathering. We spent evenings stargazing – viewing the Milky Way – clearly visible with skies absent of big city light pollution. 

My parents little retirement fixer-upper 1969

A few years and a lot of TLC later

A crew of young logging workers were renting one of the houses in town, and the presence of a 20 year old, single female caught their interest. My nephew (six years my junior) and I had been invited to a barbecue at their place, and I assumed it would be a fun afternoon with the only other people under 60, in the town with a population of around 60. I was so naïve. 

I soon learned how easily I could be caught in an unwelcome situation - and I remember the fear as I hastily left, nephew in tow. Shaken, I returned to my parents’ house and was relieved we would be heading home the next morning. When none of us could sleep we opted to start our ten hour trek before dawn, and arrived home on a Sunday afternoon. I thought of my boyfriend at home. His tenderness and restraint. His decency and respect, as our friendship was slowly blossoming.

For the first time ever I realized how much I missed George. How much he meant to me. I had never missed anyone in my life like this. I could hardly wait to get home and tell him - he was the one! I was in love with my best friend! And I hoped he felt the same about me.

The Homecoming

“I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of the life to start as soon as possible.” When Harry Met Sally

That road trip home felt like an eternity. I passed the time imagining the scene in TV ads, showing two lovers running from opposite ends in a field of flowers - in slow motion - and into each other’s loving embrace. That would be us in just a few hours. He would be as thrilled as I was to be home, I was sure of it.

I ran that visual through my head for hours, and called his home as soon as I could. But he wasn’t there. I finally tracked him down, thanks to his pal Barry. George was at a GTO Club car wash, at a gas station in North Hollywood. Not the flower field of my dreams, but it would have to do. I hopped into my not-so-special Buick Special and made my way to the gas station, wearing one of his favorite dresses – a home sewn white mini shift with matching shorts. I was ready to wrap my arms around George and proclaim my love.

When I finally spotted him at the club car wash, he was happy to see me - I think. “Hi!” he said, bucket in hand, ready to soap up the next vehicle before him. “Need your car washed?” Not quite the response I was hoping for, but I wasn’t deterred. I always admired George’s dedication to whatever task was at hand. He was in full-on fundraising mode, offering car washes to anyone who drove by and making sure the club members were properly cleaning cars and drying them to spotless perfection – a skill he learned working at a bona fide car wash (for fifty cents an hour and tips) in his pre-Firestone days.  

Clean GTO's - and cheap gas. $.32/gallon!

I watched him, chatted when he was within earshot, and decided this would not be our “moment”. We kissed as I left for home, and he promised to pick me up later that evening for a homecoming night out. I would have to wait a while longer…

I always heard George’s arrival before his knock at my door – the four-barrel carburetor and 360 horsepower of his GTO announced his presence before he reached my house. As promised, he picked me up and we headed to the Santa Monica Pier for a beautiful July summer’s night out. I held his hand tighter, and leaned my head into his arm as often as I could. We were both happy to be back together, and I wanted the night to last forever. But I couldn’t find the moment to say the L word – yet. That would have to wait until we parked in front of my house.

As my parents watched TV inside, George and I took advantage of his GTO’s front bench seat. I snuggled close and, as we “made out” (another term from the 60’s), I looked into his soft blue eyes and told him I loved him. His eyes and touch confirmed he felt the same. 

I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but must share one more reason I knew I was with the right man. George did not make the first move. In the parlance of that ubiquitous baseball metaphor, George never stole a “base” without my permission. That night, I gave him permission - to advance a base.

My love. My life. My Kahuna. My George.