The Masters Project Book 7: Randy and Kathy

The Masters Project

Book Seven (Danny and Kathy)

by Robert Lubrican

zbookstore.com Edition

Copyright 2010 Robert Lubrican

Second edition 2026

License Notes

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Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Afterword

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Foreword

This is the seventh episode, if you will, in a series of books that resulted from my research project into if and why people who were married for a long time seem to resemble each other.  It would be most helpful to the reader to have read the previous six books before starting this one.  There are references to the people and situations in those six previous books.  

You also need to know that the original books in this series were written as if the year was in the late seventies or early eighties. There are a number of things in this particular book that will seem odd because the chronology specified doesn't match the twenty-first century world. When I created the second editions I updated most of the references to those years. I thought about updating everything in this book too, but then decided that my older readers might enjoy a few blasts from the past, so I just left them as they were. A good example is that I reference "The Redskins" football team. That name was forced to change because honoring Native Americans was perceived as appropriating their culture.

If you asked the average Native American about this, they'd tell you that the only Native Americans who got upset by the use of the word "Redskins" were far left liberals who most Indians wished would shut the fuck up. I know this because I had a lot of friends who were Native Americans. I went to pow wows with them. I danced with them. I ate with them. I made period accurate clothing out of buckskin and wore it when I went to such gatherings. I was given an Indian name. I would have used peyote with them but I was too chicken. I'm a lily white European descendant but I was welcome in that culture because I respected it. There are thousands of towns and geological formations in America that were named based on a tribe the settlers interacted with and every single one of those was named out of respect, not appropriation.

Topeka Kansas? It comes from the Kaw language and means "a good place to dig potatoes." The founders chose that name because of its indigenous origin and relevance to the land.

Sorry. That is something I'm passionate about. Suffice it to say I left some anachronisms in as a nod to old farts like me.

Bob

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Chapter One

Someone once said that, if you sit a chimpanzee at a computer keyboard, eventually he'd write War and Peace, or one of those big long novels. What that really means is that, given enough time, random events will result an outcome that, otherwise, could not be predicted.  Your reaction to that might be (with a sneer,) "Well duh. Random events resulting in unpredicted outcomes? What an amazing insight."  But another way of looking at that concept is that a particular outcome can be expected ... given enough time.

Somebody else said that truth is stranger than fiction. I'll let you be the judge of that, after you read this narrative.

It was a crisp autumn afternoon when I wrapped up the interviews with one of the last couples in my study. I stopped off at Walmart to get a box of Little Debbie cupcakes, something I had a particular weakness for. I don't know if it was because they tasted good, or because of the company slogan: "Little Debbie Has A Treat For You". I saw that on the side of a truck once upon a time, along with a picture of "Little Debbie", whose panties were showing. I confess I had evil thoughts about the "treat" Little Debbie might have for me. This does not mean I'm a pedophile. If I took that fantasy further, Little Debbie would be of age and there would be a different look on her face.

Anyway, when I got out of the car to go inside, I grabbed my clipboard for some reason. It was probably habit, but I realized I was carrying it about halfway to the store and turned around to take it back to the car. My shoelace was untied and I stepped on it, tripping, so I bent over to tie it up. As I stood up, I saw motion out of the corner of my eye and looked to see the very startled face of a young woman staring through the windshield of her pickup truck, which was coming out of a parking slot frontways as it struck me. I remember turning at the last second, so that it hit my butt, instead of my hip, and then the world spun.

You know how they say you can see stars when you get a good whack on the head? They aren't lying, folks.

Things got fuzzy for a few seconds. I remember a falling sensation and some very hard pavement. Then there was a pair of women above my face, screaming for help and, just as I realized the two women were actually only one woman, things just faded to black.

I woke up in the hospital. It was very comfortable and I didn't want to open my eyes. But the beeping of machines and the low jumble of voices told me where I was; the smell too. I blinked my eyes open and turned my head, which was the wrong thing to do, because lightning suddenly struck and forced this odd sound out of my throat.

"He's awake," came a calm female voice that I knew wasn't all that loud, but still sent more pains shooting through my head. I felt like I had the mother of all hangovers.

Then there was somebody shining lights in my eyes and holding them open. My arms were under blankets and I couldn't move them, so I told whoever it was in no uncertain terms that I was not happy with the situation. I'm told it came out something along the lines of: "Mfph sumbah lily phoombah grahb!"

"Yes," said the doctor, as if he understood every word. "You have a slight concussion. There's no real damage, though. We're going to keep you here overnight, just to keep an eye on you, but you'll be fine with a little rest. Do you feel up to having a visitor? Your girlfriend has been waiting to see you."

My mind toyed with the idea that I suddenly had a girlfriend. Then that face was hovering over me again. The last time I had seen it was through the windshield of the truck that I remembered bouncing up onto.

"Are you all right?" she asked quietly.

"Yrg ran oberme," I mumbled.

"Yes," said the doctor wisely. "You were hit by a car. Don't worry about that, though. Your girlfriend says she got the license number, so I'm sure the police will catch the culprit. You just lie still for a while. You need to remain calm. Would you like a sedative to help you sleep?"

I shook my head, primarily because I was trying to marshal my thoughts and voice to explain that this woman was not my girlfriend, and the reasons she knew the license number of the 'car' that had hit me was because it was her license number. Shaking my head, though, was a bad idea, as it turned out, and led to amazing pain, which led to vocalizations that promptly brought a sting to my arm and the world faded away once more.

This time when I woke up I felt a lot better. The pain in my head was only a dull ache now, and I was able to roll my head to one side without pissing off Thor. The woman who had run me down was slumped in a chair, sleeping. There was a young man sitting beside her in another chair, reading a magazine. He looked up and his eyes widened. Thankfully he didn't squeal or scream. He just poked the woman, who woke with a start.

"He's awake," said the man.

The woman's eyes went wild for a second or two, and her head swiveled like she was looking for the lion that was about to pounce on her. She stood up and leaned over me again.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice hushed. "I didn't see you and then all of a sudden you were just there, and I couldn't stop, and then you rolled up on my hood and I was so scared, an I know you hate me, but I didn't mean to hurt you, and oh please don't call the police."

She took a long shuddering breath, which wasn't surprising, seeing as how she had spoken for almost forty-five seconds straight.

"We'll pay for everything." she said meekly. Her eyes stared into mine and there was pleading in them.

The man's face appeared beside hers.

"You feeling better?" he asked.

I nodded.

"They kept you overnight for observation," he said. "We found your clipboard, and it had your name on it, so we knew who to ask for. They wouldn't have let us see you if Kathy hadn't pretended to be your girlfriend."

I liked this guy. He had told me more in thirty seconds than anybody else had told me the whole time I was there. He went on.

"They say you'll be fine. You're a little scraped up, but no real damage. Kathy's a little impulsive. I hope you'll be kind to us about this. It really was an accident."

Well, I wasn't in any position, just then, to assert my victim's rights, or whatever the bleeding hearts would call them, but then again I didn't feel all that badly. I tried talking again.

"Nothing broken?" I croaked.

He got a cup of water and held it to my lips. That helped.

A nurse came into the room.

"Stop that!" she scolded, taking the water from him. "You're not supposed to give fluids to someone with a concussion!"

I didn't like her. I was dying of thirst and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I wasn't crazy about the girl who had run me over either. The guy I liked. He had done something nice for me, even if it broke the rules.

"When can I leave?" I asked.

The nurse got all official on me.

"The doctor will decide that. You just lie there and get some rest."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," I said, "but haven't I been resting since yesterday?"

When they don't have a snappy official answer for you, they just turn around and leave. Nurses look good in their cute, colorful scrubs, and they're good for a fantasy or two, but in real life they're just mean, nasty women. Trust me on that.

OK, I know that's not fair, but that's how I felt at the time.

Anyway, for lack of anything better to do, I lay there and got to know my attacker and, as it turned out, her husband.

Danny introduced himself and Kathy, and then explained that, while he was wrestling a new 52" flat screen TV out of the store, Kathy ran ahead to drive the truck around to the door, since they had backed the vehicle into the parking slot and couldn't get to the bed. That's when she and I met the first time. I knew I had been tying my shoe, and that bent over like that it was likely she hadn't seen me. In other words, it really was an accident. That and the fact that nothing much hurt except my head, made it seem less traumatic than it had before. I told them I wasn't mad, and that, as long as it didn't cost me an arm and a leg for the hospital visit, I wouldn't make any trouble for them.

Then I remembered the clipboard, which Danny said he'd found, with the sheaves of paper on it that, instead of leaving safe at home, I insisted on carrying around with me. Suddenly things were traumatic again.

"My papers?" I asked.

Danny leaned over the arm of the chair and came up with the clipboard, all the papers still on it, and I heaved a sigh of relief.

"What is all that, anyway?" asked Kathy. She was amazingly upbeat, now that she knew I wasn't going to come after them for everything they had, which probably wasn't much. They were young, and dressed pretty much like I did, which meant their clothes came from the same place their televisions did.

"Research project," I said shortly.

"Boy, that must be some research project," she said giddily. "I mean all those notes about people doing all those things and stuff. It reads like a pornographic book or something!"

"It's about marriage," I said. I was still a little miffed at her, even though I knew she couldn't have helped what had happened.

"We're married!" said Kathy brightly.

I looked at her face and saw lingering fear in her eyes. I realized she was babbling ... trying to be sociable. I felt a little empathy for her. It must have been traumatic for her too. Too many people have a simple accident that screws up the rest of their life. Shit happens, but even so, it always smells bad.

"Relax," I said. "It was just an accident."

"I know," she said softly. "But I still feel bad."

To divert her attention I told them about my research project.

"We don't look much alike," said Kathy when I was done. "You'd think we would but ..." She stopped so suddenly that it caught my attention. That, and the fact that Danny tensed up and shot her a look that was full of warning.

"I guess we just don't look much alike," she said, blushing a little. She darted her own look back at Danny.

"How long have you been married?" I asked.

Kathy took a breath, but Danny put his hand on her arm and she didn't say anything.

"It's been about five years," he said.

What seemed odd about that was his characterization of the time as "about" five years, and her lack of response that he didn't know to the day how long they'd been married. It wasn't so odd that he didn't know. What was odd was that she didn't react to that.

"Not everyone in my study looks alike," I said, just to keep the conversation going. "Lots of those types of couples seem very happy."

"Oh, we're happy!" said Kathy, perking up, like I had suggested they weren't.

I still don't know why I said it, but the fact is that I did: "Well, would you guys like to join the project?"

"What would we have to do?" asked Danny, looking a little guarded.

"Oh, it's just an interview process, where I ask you questions," I said.

"The questions that were on your papers?" Kathy blushed.

"That's the ones," I said.

"And people didn't mind answering them?" She looked startled.

"Most of the time it was no problem. I guarantee confidentiality. When I publish the paper there won't be any names in it," I explained. "Not real names anyway."

"What if we're not ... like other couples?" asked Danny.

That seemed like an odd way to look at things. The philosopher in me responded to that.

"Well, no two couples are the same," I said. "Everybody is different."

"Yeah," was his only response.

I could tell that they were uncomfortable for some reason, and I didn't really need anybody else in the study, particularly if they had only been married for a short time, so I dropped that line of conversation and we talked about various other inconsequential things.

The doctor came sweeping into the room, along with three other younger people in white coats, and he picked up my chart. He began going over it out loud and I realized that those with him must be students, or medical interns or something like that. They talked about me like I wasn't there for a while and then all agreed that the tests they had run indicated no lasting brain trauma, and that I could go home. Then they left. Not once did any of them speak to me directly.

When they were gone Danny offered to give me a ride back to Wal-Mart, where my car was still parked. I got up out of bed and, as I staggered a little bit, the hospital gown, which was on me like a robe being worn backwards - and not tied - drifted off my shoulders and slid down my arms. I was dizzy, and ended up falling back onto the bed, unable to break my fall because my hands were all tied up in the gown.

"Oh!" squealed Kathy.

The gown had covered my face when I fell, and I dragged it off to find that my lower torso - my very naked lower torso - was exposed to both of them. I pushed my gown-covered hands down to cover my groin.

"Maybe you're not quite ready to go after all," commented Danny wryly.

"I'm getting out of here," I said firmly. "Just give me a minute to get used to standing up. My blood has been lying down for a long time."

Kathy scurried out of the room while Danny helped me find my clothes and get dressed. The nurse came in and barked at me for getting up, and I barked back at her because the Doctor had said I could go home. I know for a fact that it only took them fifteen seconds in the ER to decide "He's staying! Tie him to that bed!" but for some reason it took them more than an hour to decide "Okay, I guess you can actually leave now." I ended up in a wheel chair, being pushed by Danny as we picked up a subdued Kathy and they took me out to the entrance of the hospital. Once I wasn't in the building it was suddenly just fine for me to walk, and I got the hell out of there before they decided to hog tie me and do more tests, or whatever.

The trip from the hospital back to Wal-Mart wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. Kathy, other than being a bit of a motor-mouth, was really ... well ... cute, I guess. Some women affect a man because of their looks, at least initially. But most women have a much stronger affect on a man based on their personality, in the end. I can't tell you how many times I've been around a beautiful woman who was wrapped up in promoting that beauty above other, more practical things. Kathy was one of those women who just loved life, and she loved everything about life. She had a positive attitude and was interested in all the things that comprised her life. She could find "meaning" in almost anything. She was the kind of person who counts her blessings fairly continuously, and celebrates each one. For her, the glass was half full.

The best example I could give you is her conversation on that trip. After they arranged to pay the bill at the hospital, and we got to the parking lot, Danny said "I'll drive," in that way men have of saying "I'll drive, because the last time you drove, you ran over some poor shmuck." She knew exactly what he meant - both of us did - but she took it all in stride.

"Fine. That will give me more time to talk to Bob," was her reply.

She sat in the front seat, but turned sideways so she could talk to both of us. She didn't seem to be the least bit offended that she had been stripped of her driving rights.

"This is all kismet, you know," she said, once we had gotten moving.

"Kismet?" I asked.

"You know ... fate. I ran over you for a reason." She said it like it was obvious. "There was some reason we were supposed to come together like this."

"Couldn't we have just bumped into each other and said 'Hi'?" I asked.

"She did bump into you," said Danny wryly.

Kathy was unfazed.

"Joke about it all you like," she said brightly. "But the fact is that things happen for a reason. I believe that firmly."

Then, like her running me over, and the 'fact' that it was ordained by the stars, wasn't nearly as important as it had sounded, she changed the subject and asked me all kinds of questions about where I lived, and what I was studying in school, and what I was going to do after school and things like that. That morphed into questions about how I felt about this political situation, or that story in the news. She jumped around with the verbal alacrity of a late-night TV comedy show host, talking first about one thing, and then changing subjects for no apparent reason. At first I thought she was just still nervous, but it didn't take long to realize that she was just a happy-go-lucky person who was interested in almost anything. She wanted to express her own thoughts on things, and was interested in mine. It was suddenly like we had grown up together, but hadn't seen each each other for years, and she was just catching up.

Danny was a little different. With man-to-man relationships, it usually hinges on the competition factor. Men tend to compete with each other. If they can't compete on the basis of looks, then the urge to compete manifests itself in other ways. They'll compete about which football team is better, or which way of navigating through the city is better, or even who knows the most obscure facts about something nobody cares about. Sometimes they'll even compete over something so simple as a handshake.

Danny, though, was more comfortable with who he was, and the competition factor just didn't play into things. He just drove, and made a comment here and there. He didn't have to ask any questions. That was Kathy's department, apparently. I hadn't shaken his hand yet, but by the time we got to Wal-Mart I was sure that when I did, his grip would be firm, but not strong, and that he'd probably give a double shake.

Women don't understand the importance of shaking hands. The roots of the handshake go back to ancient days, when an open hand was a sign of peace, or negotiation, because it didn't hold a weapon. The clasping of hands made it so that neither hand could snatch up a weapon and kill the other guy. Handshakes were a sign of trust and vulnerability back then. The military salute is based on the same concept. An open hand is shown and offered in respect. It wasn't intended to be a competition. Somehow we men have turned it into that, at least sometimes. By the way, I'm told there is competition between soldiers about whose salute is more snappy, or whose hand is at the perfect angle and so on.

When men compete in a handshake, grip is the first part of that. There is sometimes a subtle squeezing, as if to find out which one can crush the other without actually doing any crushing. Then, if one of them feels more powerful than the other, there is a single shake, as if to say "There! You now know who is the stronger!" If both men feel like they've won that first round, the shake will often go on, for three or four shakes, as each one says "There!" over and over again. Often that is punctuated by what sounds like a compliment. "Wow, what a ham," translates to "Okay, you're strong, but I can take it." Sometimes a man knows he can't compete, and presents a limp hand to his opponent, as if to offer something that will creep out the stronger man. The intent there is not so much to just submit, as it is to communicate "Let's just get this over with, Okay? I can't enjoy this, so I'm not going to let you enjoy it either." Some men do submit, and that is usually communicated by a frenzied multiple shake kind of thing, where one of them has the urge to snatch his hand back.

But not all men compete in a handshake. Sometimes it is really an offer of courtesy. That is the firm-but-not-strong grip, with a double shake that says "I don't mind touching you, and in fact, I'm glad we got this opportunity to show each other respect."

A good handshake announces cooperation, not competition.

I tell you all this because, when we did get to Wal-Mart, and I got out to get in my own car, he did give me a good handshake, along with a simple "Thanks," which I understood meant "Thanks for understanding that accidents happen, and for not ruining the day of my mate, whom I love dearly, even if she drives like a woman."

I tell you all this because I want you to know how smart I am, and how on top of things a sociologist is when he enters into relationships with strangers.

And I tell you all this so you'll be impressed, and overlook the fact that I was completely clueless as to how important this couple would someday be in my life. I'm trying to distract you with socio-babble, so that when you find out how clueless I really was, you won't pay any attention to that.

Kathy, no doubt still feeling guilty for what had happened, said: "You have to come over to our house for dinner. I probably owe you a month of dinners to make up for almost killing you."

Poor college kids never turn down free food. I may have mentioned this before. So I accepted.

"Okay," I said.

"Saturday?" she asked. "Lunch?"

"Deal," I said.

I had forgotten all about ... kismet.

Chapter Two

Saturday, at that time of year, at least in their household, meant that football was on TV when I arrived. Some people turn off the TV when a guest arrives. That's supposed to signal how important they think the guest is. In other situations, the TV is left on. That can mean one of two things. Either what's on TV is more important than the guest, or the guest is just accepted as an extension of the family, who will either watch or not, as his tastes determine.

In this household, it was none of the above. Danny and Kathy had a habit of choosing one of the games that was being televised, and then each one supported a different team. I was to find out later that this went back a long way, and had a very practical basis. The most basic reason for doing this was that there was always a 'winner' after the game was over. That meant that one of them was happy, and had bragging rights. That meant that one of them was 'unhappy', which meant that he or she needed cheering up.

The cheering up happened in the bedroom.

They did it with football, and basketball, and ice skating and beach volleyball. They had cable, and had at least three sports channels. They weren't really into sports, though. What they were into was sex. Sports just facilitated the sex. It was a game that had served them very well.

But as I said, I didn't find out about that until later. In fact, I was there for the fourth time when, after a game in which Kathy's team had won a crushing victory, handed me a soda and said "We'll be right back. We have to do something." She dragged a moaning Danny to the bedroom, and fifteen minutes later they came out, flushed and happy. That was when I learned about that particular tradition of theirs.

I don't mean to jump around, but that helps you understand the way in which they lived their lives, which will help you understand some other things that happened before that, and which was important later on.

Anyway, that first time, Kathy made grilled cheese sandwiches and bean and bacon soup, which she put in these oversized coffee cups, and she served it to us on TV trays with cold, bottled beer, and we all sat around and watched the Eagles get trashed by the Bears and talked about the commercials and stupid stuff like that. In other words, we just had fun hanging out.

The second time I went over, we played cards ... Hearts, in that case. I didn't realize the importance of it then, but that was another kind of competition in which there was a winner and a loser, and somebody was 'unhappy' when it was all over.

It was also the first time that things began moving like a locomotive, inching forward, and soon to be moving heavily faster, until it would end up as a racing thing, impossible to stop before it had gone much farther than ... well, more about that later.

When you play cards you talk. I wasn't interviewing this couple for my Master's project, but I had been interviewing couples for months. I guess it was just habit to ask them some of the same questions.

"So how did you two meet?" I asked, leading diamonds for the third time and expecting to see the queen of spades slam down on the table, accompanied by a crow of "Take that!"

"We grew up together," said Kathy, playing a lower diamond.

Danny threw the queen, but didn't crow about it. I should have realized that meant something, but didn't.

"Really?" I asked, scooping in the cards.

I led the queen of clubs, which I had saved. I was trying to shoot the moon, and was trying to distract them with talk. The queen of diamonds was still out there, though, and I needed somebody to sluff that card, to take them all, because all I had left in diamonds was a seven.

"What were you ... neighbors?" I asked.

Danny unloaded the card I was looking for.

"Something like that," he said, glancing over at Kathy with what I immediately recognized as a warning look. It was pretty obvious to me that he didn't want to talk about it, and that made me curious.

Kathy dropped the ten of hearts on the pile. I was elated. I had the queen, king and ace in my hand.

"We've known each other since we were little," she said, watching me pull in the trick.

The way she said it fed my curiosity. Most people would have launched into an account of how they had become attracted to each other, maybe after being disgusted with the whole idea. That happens in a lot of cases when two people grow up together. First they are playmates. Then, just before puberty strikes, they can't stand each other. Puberty has a tendency to turn things around, though, often with some funny or interesting stories attached. They didn't talk about that, though, and that made me even more curious.

I led the queen of hearts.

"So it wasn't love at first sight?" I suggested.

"He's going for it," said Danny. He played the four of hearts.

"I knew I was in love with him when I was ten," said Kathy, dropping the eight of hearts on the pile.

I struck hard, leading the king and then the ace. Danny sluffed diamonds. Only Kathy and I had hearts left. I tried to remember how many had been played, but couldn't. I had been trying to distract them, and had distracted myself in the process. I reached for the tricks I had.

"No looking, Bob," chided Kathy.

"Come on, they're my tricks," I said.

"No looking, Bob," she said firmly.

We dueled with hearts and I got her with each one until all I had left was the two of hearts and that seven of diamonds I had forgotten all about. If she had another heart, I was toast. I tossed out the seven of diamonds.

She took that trick with the nine of diamonds and the last trick with the five of clubs. She ended up with one heart - and I got twenty-five points.

"How did that happen?" I asked, amazed.

"You weren't paying attention," said Kathy smiling widely. "You were too busy poking into our background."

I paid attention after that. We teamed up against Danny, and he lost the game. He took it pretty well, from my point of view. Of course I had no idea that she would make him feel all better as soon as I left.

Had I known that, I might not have paid so much attention to the cards. I don't mean to say that I lusted after her, or anything. Kathy was one of those women whose features were just a hint off kilter, when compared to a "better looking" woman. By that I only mean that her eyes were a skosh wider than optimal, and that her pug nose might have looked more appropriate on a girl of thirteen, instead of the twenty-four years old she was. Her hips were maybe just a little too wide to be in complete synchronization with her breasts, which were probably in the range of being 34, with a C cup. Her hair was a lighter shade of brown than her eyebrows, which were dark enough to call attention to themselves on her face. Her smile was a little crooked, almost like she'd had a stroke or something. One corner of her mouth turned up, and the other stayed right where it was. It made her smile look sardonic. She reminded me of that girl in the Pentatonic singing group. That girl smiles like that, too.