Clark walked over to the reception desk at the reunion and looked for his name tag. For some reason they were arranged in alphabetical order by first name. Since he knew he was the only Clark in his high school graduation class, he quickly found his nametag. But instead of Clark Galle it said, Clark Gable. His last name was off by one letter.

There was no one behind the table to talk to. Nor were there any markers that he could use to fix the error. Clark Gable. He would spend the night now, fielding stupid remarks about how he didn’t look like a movie star. Someone would surely say, “I didn’t know Clark Gable went to our high school.” And, “Clark Gable? Where’s your mustache?”

He thought for a moment about leaving, but he’d travelled a long way to come to his reunion, all the way to New Jersey from Los Angeles. It dawned on him then, that he might have to lie about that. Telling people he lived in LA, would only mean another round of lame jokes.

A woman approached him. “I know you! You haven’t changed a bit.” He checked out her name tag and saw it was Debbie Siefert. The name tags included yearbook photos. He remembered the name, but this woman bore no resemblance to the girl pictured in her photo. “Hello, Debbie, how nice to see you again,” he said. He didn’t actually remember her after fifty years, but he’d practiced polite responses on the plane ride.

“I see they spelled your name wrong. Could be worse, I suppose. They could have put Clark Cable.” She laughed a high-pitched laugh, that made Clark remember her now. He remembered Clark Cable too. Cable, who lived in their small town had, in a drunken stupor, murdered his milkman. He thought the man was in love with his wife. After he shot him, he took his milk truck and drove through the neighborhood handing out bottles of buttermilk and chocolate milk for free. The press played it up as the buttermilk killer. After Cable died in a shootout with the cops, high school boys used to swear they’d seen Cable’s ghost under the stands at football games.

A thin, tired looking man approached Debbie and Clark. “Didn’t take you two long to find each other again. You were always inseparable.”

Clark was beginning to wonder if he’d wandered into the wrong reunion. But he did remember the man, Randy Reynolds. “Randy, it’s been a long time. I hope life has treated you well all these years,” Clark said. It was another line he’d practiced on the plane.

“Living the dream!” Randy said. “Wait till I tell Marsha you’re here.” He glanced at Clark’s nametag. “Still the joker, eh?”

Clark ignored the remark. “Do you keep in touch with Marsha?” Clark asked. Marsha was the only reason he’d come to his reunion. He’d been in love with her since the first day of high school. Through two marriages and divorces, children and even grandchildren, he still thought of her.

“Keep in touch with her?” Randy lightly poked Debbie in the ribs.

“Randy and Marsha have been married for what, forty-four years?” Now she poked Randy.

“Forty-five,” Randy corrected her, grinning.

Clark was ready to leave. He excused himself and turned to go, but then he heard her voice. “Clark, don’t you dare walk away without saying hello to me.”

He turned to face her. She looked so pretty. He’d also memorized what he would say to her when he saw her, but that flew out of his head the minute he heard her voice. “Hi, Marsha,” was the best he could do. 

“May I buy you a drink?” she asked.

Clark looked at Randy, who was smiling. “Go ahead. She’s her own boss, always was.”

Clark and Marsha walked over to the bartender. “What’ll it be folks? He said.

They both ordered martinis. Marsha looked around before she spoke. “Clark, all these years and I never stopped thinking about you and the way we broke up.”

Clark was off balance now. They’d dated through their freshman and sophomore years. Then, Marsha went to visit relatives for the summer. When she returned to school in the fall, she acted as if they’d never been more than friends.

“I don’t believe we ever actually broke up, Marsha.”

“Not in words, maybe. But when I came back from St. Louis, you acted like you didn’t know me. It doesn’t matter now, I guess, but I’ve always wondered why you did that.”

“Well, I thought it was the other way around,” Clark said. “Anyway, it sounds like you and Randy made out just fine.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You and Randy, married forty-five years.”

Marsha let out a whoop and said, “Randy Reynolds? Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“That’s what he told me.”

“Randy and I dated for about three months after high school. It took me fourteen months to get rid of him. I did make the mistake of telling him once how I felt about you.”

Clark smiled. “Who did you marry?”

“A man named Hank Wilson. We were married for eleven years. We had two children. He left me with the kids and I never heard from him again. Clark peeked at her dress. He noticed now that she wasn’t wearing a nametag.

The bartender said, “That will be $22.00 please.”

Marsha reached into her handbag, but Clark anticipated her and quickly paid for the drinks. The bartender noticed Clark’s nametag. He nodded at Marsha. “I see you brought a movie star with you.” He winked at them.

Marsha didn’t skip a beat. “My Clark is so much better looking than the other one.”  The rest of the night felt more like the senior prom they’d missed a long time ago.