Chapter 7 - Bonnie

Chapter 7

Bonnie

Shitsville, Arizona, 1969

Meeting Jimmy Keays was like getting struck by lightning. It was the summer after high school, and Bonnie Brown was green as a new shoot in spring. She was working her first job, handling reception and bookkeeping for Arthur Slaughter's dental practice, right off Central in town. Doc Slaughter had given her the job because he was her pa's cousin once removed and he felt sorry for Pa, left alone in Shitsville with Bonnie still to feed. Bonnie's mom had lit out for greener pastures and Bonnie couldn't really blame her. Mom had been the main earner in the family, slogging through long shifts at the Spotless Sudz laundromat and also waitressing at the diner out by the interstate, until she was as wrung out as an old sheet. Bonnie's older brothers had both lit out too, the minute they were old enough, leaving Bonnie alone with the old man. Terry and Wayne were in Vietnam now, and neither of them were much for writing, let alone sending any of their pay home. Pa watched the nightly news from his old brown chair, keeping an eye out for Terry and Wayne in the endless streams of footage, but so far he hadn't caught sight of them. Although the snowy reception on their old television was so bad that Bonnie didn't think there was ever much chance of seeing them, even if they'd been on the screen.

"At least they ain't dead," Pa would sigh in his usual dusty way, when he failed to see his sons on the snowy screen. "Someone would have told me if they were dead." Then he'd light up another Lucky Strike and complain about how the boys were hanging him out to dry by not sending a nickel or two, given they were earning a regular paycheck on Uncle Sam.

Pa was what people in Shitsville called down on his luck. Everyone in Shitsville was down on their luck. The place was built for the luckless, and Bonnie hated it and was itching to get the hell out. Shitsville was the kind of trailer park that gave trailer parks a bad name. It wasn't a mobile home park, or a trailer estate, or luxury mobile living, like you saw in the shiny magazine ads, but a regular dirt-road trailer park, full of trailer trash like the Browns. Not all trailer parks were like Shitsville. Some of them had people who were born under a lucky star. Not far away, on the northwestern edge of Phoenix, there was a prime example of what Shitsville wasn't. That place was luxury mobile living. Both Shitsville and the other place had "Gardens" in their names, but one was laid out like an actual park, with actual gardens and even a pool, and the other . . . wasn't. Bonnie could never understand why she'd been born under a star that left her in the desolation of Shitsville with all the people down on their luck; surely she deserved the actual park, with actual gardens and even a pool?

The other Gardens was full of snowbirds flocking to the Arizona sun, their pastel double-wides taking up plots in the well-watered gardens, decked with awnings and ringed with picket fences. They had barbecues out on their little lawns, and the residents splashed about in their fancy chlorinated pool, enjoying retirement in the Valley of the Sun.

Shitsville, on the other hand, was none of that. While it also bandied about the name "Gardens," there wasn't a patch of green to be seen. Not a bush, not a flower, not a tree. It was a baking stretch of dirt, with aged, boxy brown and tan trailers slowly falling to bits on the desert flat. Bonnie was glad to get a job so she could get away from the claustrophobia of living practically on top of your neighbors. Oh, the noise of them all. The competing radios and televisions going at all hours; the ballgames called, the Elvis records Sally Nash played over and over and over again; and Mrs. Chisum's soaps, which tinnily screeched through the afternoon somnolence. Every. Single. Day. Well, bar weekends, when Mrs. Chisum watched Songs of Praise and took to singing hymns in her off-key wavering voice, which was surprisingly loud for such an old broad.

Bonnie was even more glad not to be home when Mrs. Chisum started yelling at the damn TV, cursing out one or more of the soap characters for their cheating, lying ways. Mrs. Chisum was down on her luck, having been permanently incapacitated by a hard-drinking husband twenty years before. He'd come home from the war with a temper problem and was prone to beating on Mrs. Chisum with whatever implement was close to hand. He had also been down on his luck. As was Nancy Miller, across the dirt road, who took gentleman callers to pay the bills. And Cora Buck, who was just about always pregnant, because her husband didn't believe in the pill. He said it was against God. And Mr. Buck's God seemed pretty determined to keep Cora knocked up, that was for sure. Knocked up and down on her luck.

Bonnie had decided long ago that she didn't believe in luck. She was going to live her life without it, and the first step was making good at this job with Doc Slaughter and saving some coin to escape Shitsville for good. Maybe even to somewhere like the other Gardens, because she liked the idea of a pool, especially during the blazing Arizona summer.

Bonnie met Jimmy Keays on the day that she cashed her first check, on the Friday of her second week of work. Jimmy Keays, the best worst thing to ever happen to her. Just imagine if things had played out differently, if she'd worked somewhere else, somewhere that expected her to be at her desk on a Friday after lunch . . . She never would have met Jimmy Keays, and she'd be a completely different Bonnie, living a completely different life. And even though Jimmy put her through hell, she wouldn't have wished it otherwise. Because: lightning. Jimmy struck Bonnie like a bolt from the blue, and he wasn't good luck or bad luck, he was just elemental. A force. And she was well and truly struck.

Although he would have said she was the lightning, and he was struck. And maybe it was true.

They only met because Doc Slaughter, it turned out, didn't take patients on a Friday afternoon, and he let Bonnie take an extra-long lunch break, so long as she was back by two to answer the phone. The doc told Bonnie she was to say he was busy to his wife or anyone else who called after two p.m., because, and Bonnie was sworn to secrecy on this, Doc Slaughter spent his Friday afternoons at the Playboy Club, which was over in the Mayer Central building. Once he'd told her that if she was just a bit taller, and just a little more dramatically proportioned, she might make a good bunny. They earned good tips, he told her. But Bonnie liked her current job just fine. The doc's clinic had real, honest-to-goodness frosty air-conditioning, just like a department store, and he had a coffeemaker and never complained if she helped herself to a cup as she worked. It was good coffee too. And she was getting paid $57.50 every week just to sit there and answer the phone, and open mail, and greet the patients, and take the payments, and keep the books up to date. This was a plush way to live, and she wasn't about to give it up, especially to strip her clothes off for a bunch of men.

Besides, how good could tips be, to beat $57.50 every week?

The first thing Bonnie was going to do with her paycheck, she decided on that first payday, was to use her long lunch to get some new clothes. She had only two outfits, and she was sick to death of washing them. She knew exactly what she was going to buy with her money too. There was a yellow shift dress at JCPenney's that she'd first seen in an ad in Seventeen magazine. It was sleeveless, with a high neck and big white daisies on it, and it cost a whole fourteen dollars. Which she could now afford. As soon as she'd waved the doc off, she skipped to cash her check at the bank. And then she met her friend Dee at Bob's Big Boy for lunch before they went shopping, and for once she could afford to splurge a dollar forty-five on the fried chicken and thirty-five cents on a strawberry shake, instead of nursing a Coke and watching everyone else eat.

"One day we'll be out there, in a car," she told Dee, nodding at the cars lined up at the hop outside the window. She was sharing her fries with her friend and had shoved a second straw in her shake for her too. Dee wasn't from Shitsville, but close enough. She lived in a leaky old place with her sister Yvonne and Yvonne's husband and kid. They lived on beans on toast, and Dee watched her screaming snot monster of a nephew while her sister went to work at the same diner on the interstate that Bonnie's mom had run away from. Dee was down on her luck, but Bonnie was out to convince her that she didn't need to be.

"You wait," she said, cutting a big, juicy chunk of chicken off and handing the fork to Dee. "I'm going to be driving up in a whale of a Cadillac, the radio blasting, and I'm going to pull us up right there"—she pointed to an empty spot—"and we're going to get the full Big Boy combination burger and the hot fudge sundae. Each. And old Myra over there is going to hop it over to us and hang those trays on and we're going to have a time of it."

Dee rolled her eyes, but she ate the chicken. "Sure, and Peter Tork is going to pull up next to us and fall in love with me, at first sight, and whisk me away from the snot monster."

"You never know. The Monkees are coming to town for the state fair."

Dee had a burning crush for Peter Tork, The Monkees bass player. It had been burning since they were fifteen—she was nothing if not loyal. Bonnie herself had cycled through the band, crushing first on Davy Jones but lingering longest on Michael Nesmith. But in the end The Monkees couldn't compete with real-life boys, who could take her to the movies and buy her a milkshake.

"What color will your Caddy be?" Dee set to work on Bonnie's fries.

"You'll be expecting me to say pink, or cherry red, but I'd go for something classier. Like that yellow right there." Bonnie pointed to a buttercream-yellow Caddy pulling up in the empty spot in front of their window. This Caddy was bright shiny new, the size of a train car, and for a moment Bonnie had the eerie feeling she'd conjured it up.

"That's definitely the kind of car I'd expect The Monkees to drive," Dee said cheerfully.

"They're not going to be driving it, dumbo, I am."

"No, you're not. He is." Dee waved her French fry at the driver of the Caddy.

Bonnie had a clear view of the driver through his windshield, given he'd parked just in front of them, and he was something else. There weren't guys like him in Shitsville, or at Doc Slaughter's, or anywhere else Bonnie hung her hat. He didn't look like the guys from Luke Air Force Base either, or the boys she'd known from school (not the jocks or the nerds), and he certainly didn't look like Bonnie's brothers and their friends. He had a floppy head of shiny hair that went all the way down to his shoulders. He was wearing a striped brown and green T-shirt without a collar, and he had a leather cord tied around his neck like a necklace. She couldn't see much of his face because he was wearing a big old pair of aviator sunglasses. He was like those long-haired dropouts her pa ranted about when he watched the news. The kind from California who caused trouble. Maybe this guy was from California, she thought with a frisson of excitement. That might explain the fancy car—because he sure didn't look like the type to own a car like that.

He also didn't look much older than she was, so how did he get hold of a car like that? Was he someone famous?

"Who is that?" she asked.

"If it's not a Monkee, I can't say that I care," Dee sighed.

"It's second best to a Monkee." Bonnie watched as Myra, who'd been in their class at school and was now car hopping for a living, leaned flirtatiously over the not-a-Monkee-but-just-as-good and took his order. "Look at her drooling all over him."

And who could blame her. The guy slid his sunglasses down as he was talking to Myra and Bonnie whistled. He was some kind of fineness. Too good for the likes of Myra, who was the kind of girl to throw the medicine ball too hard in gym class. In short, a bitch.

"You think he's in the music business or something?" Bonnie mused aloud. "But he's so young . . . he doesn't look much older than us."

Bonnie drank her strawberry milkshake before Dee could hoover it up like she was hoovering up the fries, but she kept a close eye on Myra and the guy in the Caddy, only half listening as Dee talked about the trials and tribulations of babysitting the snot monster. "Just be glad Yvonne doesn't work Fridays," Bonnie told her. "Oh, my goodness, Dee, look. He got the Big Boy combination and a sundae!" Bonnie sat up straighter as Myra delivered the not-a-Monkee's order.

"He's clearly your destiny," Dee said dryly. She tugged the milkshake away from Bonnie and Bonnie didn't resist.

"You're joking, but he could be." Bonnie wiped the milk off her lips and watched the guy in the Caddy devour the whole burger and sundae. He sure ate like a regular guy, Caddy and pricey Big Boy combination or not. "That could be me sitting next to him next week, and then my vision will have come true."

Dee snorted.

But Bonnie genuinely believed it. And she didn't believe in luck, so she didn't see why it couldn't happen. Particularly if she made it happen.

"Where are you going?" Dee asked, as Bonnie slid off her stool. "You haven't finished your chicken."

"I'll be back." Bonnie straightened her skirt. "Maybe."

If only this was tomorrow, then she would have been wearing her new yellow dress from Penney's. She still looked like a schoolgirl in this stupid old homemade pleated skirt, and even more so in the short-sleeved shirt with the Peter Pan collar. She didn't look at all like the professional young woman she was. At least she'd chopped off her ponytail last week and had managed to snip her hair into something approximately resembling Goldie Hawn's on Laugh-In, a short pixie cut that was a gas. It had been worth the grief from her father, because she definitely looked older and more sophisticated like this. Her father had never watched Laugh-In, so he didn't understand how chic her hair was now, but Bonnie was sure the guy in the Caddy would appreciate it.

Bonnie glided out of the restaurant and into the blaring July sun. She tried to slink like Zsa Zsa Gabor, but she suspected her height made slinking incongruous. Being short made you seem cute, rather than slinky. Which was a crying shame. But cute worked for Goldie Hawn, didn't it? So maybe she should just embrace it.

"Aren't you worried about getting ketchup all over your upholstery?" Bonnie purred, as she slunk (cutely) up to the driver's side window of the Caddy. The dinner tray kept her from leaning in the window, which, ideally, she would have liked to do. "Seems dangerous to eat a burger in a car this fine."

The young guy turned to look at her. She could see herself reflected in his mirrored sunglasses. He must not have minded what he saw, because he examined her from head to foot, lingering on the bits boys usually lingered on. Now that she was up close, she saw that he was even better looking than she'd thought. What kind of guy had skin that dewy smooth? He also had a dimple in his chin, and she was a sucker for a chin dimple.

"No, honey, I'm not worried." He had a husky voice and an odd accent. She liked the way he said honey. It wasn't quite decent. "The ketchup wipes right off." And to prove his point, he scraped off a slap of ketchup from his burger and flung it on the bench seat next to him. "But thanks for your concern."

Lord, he was a sassy one.

"Yes, well, I'm a very concerning person," she told him. She wished she had a pair of mirrored sunglasses too, because she was squinting, and she was sure it didn't do much for her looks.

He grinned, and it was such a quick foxy expression that it quite knocked her off her feet. "I just bet you are."

Goodness, they definitely didn't make them like this around here. "Where's that accent from?" she asked. Her pa would be horrified by her forwardness, but she figured she'd never get to ride in a Cadillac the color of buttercream without a little forwardness. She reached over and snagged his aviator sunglasses and slid them on. There, that was better.

"I'm from Minnesota," he said. He'd leaned back and was giving her an amused look. He had striking silvery eyes that made her feel like he could see straight through her.

"Nice to meet you, Minnesota." She put extra pep into her voice. "Now, I don't suppose you could make a girl's dream come true and take her for a spin in this shiny new Cadillac?"

He was the one squinting now. He pursed his lips. "How old are you? Because I'm not into jailbait."

"I'm eighteen. Nineteen next March."

"All grown up, huh?"

"That's right." Bonnie tried to slink around the car to the passenger side. She could see Dee watching through the window, her eyes just about bugging out of her head.

Bonnie opened the car door, admiring the shine of the sunlight on that glossy buttercream yellow. And then she caught sight of the interior. The leather, the walnut on the dash, the state-of-the-art radio . . . and there was even air-conditioning. Not that it was on at the moment, but she could remedy that.

"I didn't say yes," Minnesota protested as she slid into the Caddy.

"You also didn't say no." Bonnie closed the door. Old Dee was just about to fall off her stool. And Myra was looking thundery. Bonnie grinned. She bet the both of them would tell everyone about this.

"Go on, eat up, so you can take me for a drive before you drop me back at work," she coaxed Minnesota the not-a-Monkee-but-just-as-good. She reached across him to whip a napkin off his tray and wiped up the splat of ketchup. She didn't want to get it on her skirt.

"You want me to take you for a spin?" His silvery eyes narrowed. And then a sly, foxy grin flickered over that mobile mouth.

Bonnie's stomach did a tumble, but she kept her cool. "I sure do."

"I reckon I've eaten enough, then." Minnesota pounded the horn to get thundery Myra to come clear away his tray. "And after we take a . . . spin . . . you want me to drop you at work? Where's work?"

"Near here. But we're getting ahead of ourselves. I don't know your name." Bonnie's heart was skittery with the thrill of adventure as he cranked up his window and started the engine. The radio wailed to life, playing something she didn't know and didn't like, and the blessed air conditioner puffed to life.

"Jimmy Keays," he told her, raising his voice to be heard over the music. "K-E-A-Y-S." He spelled it out, reaching over and stealing his sunglasses back so he didn't have to squint and drive. "What's yours?"

"Bonnie." Bonnie fiddled with the radio dial. "Because I am. Bonny, I mean." She searched for better music.

"Hey! Leave it be. I liked that."

"Well, I didn't." She stopped the search on The Archies singing "Sugar, Sugar."

Jimmy K-E-A-Y-S from Minnesota groaned. "You are too cute to have such terrible taste."

He thought she was cute, huh? Well, it wasn't slinky, but it would do. "The Archies aren't terrible!" Honestly. Who didn't like this song?

"I swear, this town missed out on the sixties, didn't it?" He was annoyed as he looked around Central as they drove. "Everyone's stuck with buzz cuts, and bad threads, and old music."

"This song only just came out," she scoffed. "It's not old. Maybe they're behind the scene in Minnesota, and you just haven't heard the new tunes."

"It may have just come out, but it belongs to the age of the dinosaur."

"It's better than that noise you were listening to." Bonnie propped her elbow on the back of the bench seat and turned to watch him as he pulled the car out of the Big Boy. He sure was nice to look at.

"That noise was Creedence, and it was bitchin'," he protested. "What kind of cultural slag heap am I in here?" He ran a hand through his floppy shiny hair, and it slid back into place like silk. Bonnie had the urge to run her fingers through it too.

"I've only been here a few weeks," he moaned, "and I'm going round the bend. It's so square."

Bonnie propped her chin on her hand. "Is this what you're choosing to do during our brief time together? Complain at me? Besides, you're from Minnesota, so you can't go complaining that we're square." She considered his long legs in their tight denim. His feet were bare and dirty. Interesting. "If you hate Phoenix so much, why are you here anyway?"

"Because I have to be." He couldn't take The Archies anymore, plainly, because he reached for the dial and changed the music. He skidded through Frank Sinatra and the Beatles before he was back to his wailing guitar noise. "Please tell me you like the Rolling Stones," he begged. "Because this song is balling."

Bonnie had heard the Rolling Stones before, but she didn't have a record player at home and her pa didn't let her listen to stuff like this, so she'd not heard a lot. She guessed that did make her pretty square. She wondered what this Jimmy Keays from Minnesota would make of her father and his Hank Williams obsession. It she was square, then her pa was cubed.

"Where do you want to go?" Jimmy asked, drumming his fingers along on the steering wheel to the music.

"Let's go out near the air base and watch the planes," Bonnie said on impulse. She glanced at the dash clock. She still had an hour. And who would notice if she was late back to the clinic? It wasn't like Doc Slaughter was there.

"Tell me the way," Jimmy Keays from Minnesota said.

Bonnie gave him directions and laughed as he put his foot down and the car shot forward. "This thing flies!"

"It sure does."

"Is it yours?" Bonnie asked, knowing it probably wasn't. He was too young. "Or your dad's?"

"It's not my dad's." He laughed like that was the funniest joke he'd ever heard. Then he turned the music up. "God, it's hot out here. Even with the air-conditioning."

"It doesn't get hot in Minnesota? Or you're all just too cool to notice?"

He gave her a look. "Honey, I can be cool and hot all at once."

She bet he could.

He had the most striking face. Hollow cheeks under strong cheekbones, a mobile wide mouth, and an expression so changeable it was like water moving.

"Is there anything you like about Phoenix?" she asked.

"I don't mind you." That foxy grin was back. It did loose and wonderful things to her insides. Things she was considering pursuing.

Bonnie wasn't a virgin. She'd taken care of that on prom night with Roy Madsen, and she and Roy had kept at it a few times, trying to get it right. So she wasn't unaware of the way Jimmy Keays was looking at her, or of the swelling in his jeans. She also knew what the floaty loose feeling she had was, and she was keen to follow its lead.

She was definitely going to jump him, she decided. In this car, out by the base. But she'd only go all the way if he had a rubber. If he didn't have a rubber, he'd have to settle for heavy petting. And so would she. Because the last thing she wanted was to end up like Cora Buck, all knocked up.

Lazily, Bonnie slid her hand along the back of the bench seat until her fingers brushed the back of Jimmy's neck. He twitched in surprise and gave her a sideways look from behind those aviators. She traced the line of the leather necklace he wore and then wound her fingers into all that silky hair. It felt as soft and shiny as it looked. It was a bronzy brown, with light streaks where the sun had kissed it.

"You're awful aggressive for a girl who dresses like she's going to church," he said.

"I'm dressed for work, Mr. Keays," she scolded him, sliding closer along the bench. She felt him stiffen as her thigh came to rest against his. She kept toying with his silky hair.

"Oh yeah? Where do you work? In a church office?"

"No." A giggle escaped her. "A dentist's office." She inched even closer, until her boob was squishing against his arm. She could feel the air in the car grow thick with feeling. The air wasn't the only thing growing thick with feeling either. She had a clear view of how much he was enjoying her company.

"You sure come on strong," he said, and his voice was tight.

"You must be used to those cool Minnesota girls."

"We only just met and you're near about climbing in my lap."

"Are you complaining?"

"What's your game?" he asked suspiciously. "You going to mug me and take the car?"

Bonnie laughed. "I'm more likely to take you than the car. Honey." She took note of where they were. "You know what? Pull over up here. There's a little dirt road, take it down to the stand of cypresses. If you park over there, no one's likely to see us."

Bonnie heard him swallow hard, but he did as she asked.

And then they were parked in the shade of the trees, all alone, the engine of the Caddy still purring away for the sake of the air-conditioning.

"I don't get it," he said, disentangling his hair from her fingers and pulling away as far as he was able, given that she'd backed him up to the door. "You come over to my car, even though we're complete strangers, and you climb in and order me to drive you about, and now you're . . . what exactly are you doing now? What is this? Some kind of tease?"

"I just liked the look of you," Bonnie said honestly. "And I was in a good mood. And I liked the car. It seemed like a fun way to pass a lunch break." She cocked her head.

"I ain't that kind of guy," he said stiffly.

"What kind of guy?"

"The kind to take advantage of a girl."

Bonnie laughed long and hard at that. "You aren't taking advantage of me, dumbo. I'm taking advantage of you."

"Well, I'm not that kind of guy either."

Bonnie cocked her head. "So, what kind of guy are you?"

"Not the casual kind." He lowered his sunglasses and his silvery eyes fixed on her. "I'm not a game you can play."

Her pulse was leaping madly. There was an energy coming off him that made her blood sing. He sure wasn't like the boys she'd known in school.

"I'm not a guy you can bait," he warned her. "And I'm not a guy you can catch."

"No?" Bonnie dared him.

"No." He took her chin in his hand. The feel of his fingers firm against her jaw made her shiver. His silvery eyes were locked on hers. They were somehow grave and gleeful all at once. He was a complicated one, that was for sure.

And then he kissed her.

And . . . lightning.

Bonnie felt the bolt snap through her. It was a violence.

This wasn't anything she'd experienced before. Jimmy Keays kissed like he was out to win a competition. There wasn't an inch of him that wasn't kissing her. His hands slid down her arms, his chest was hard against hers, his lips were commanding, his tongue intoxicatingly, wonderfully teasing. There was a sense that he was leashed, but not firmly. Like he might lose control or something. And Bonnie realized she was very green when it came to men like this.

When he pulled away, she was dazed.

"I don't do casual," he warned again. "If you keep chasing me, you'll get more than you bargained for."

"Is that a promise?" she breathed. Her heart was thundering in her ears, and she felt reckless and wild. It was a good feeling.

Bonnie never got to find out if it was a promise or not, because they were quite rudely interrupted. By the cops.

* * *

"You stole a car!" Bonnie's pa was a few cans of Pabst down and shouting up a storm, right in the front office of the police station.

"Calm down," she huffed, annoyed at him. "If you'd just listen, you'd understand that I didn't steal anything. I rode in a stolen car. It's completely different."

"We won't be charging her." The cop sounded tired. He was at the end of his shift and happy to let her go. "Or her little boyfriend neither. Mr. Bleasdale doesn't want to press charges."

It turned out Mr. Bleasdale, the guy who actually owned the Caddy, was Jimmy K-E-A-Y-S from Minnesota's grandfather. He'd come in red-faced and furious and was almost as shouty as Bonnie's pa was now. "I thought some punk had taken it, and now I find out it's you. I told you it wasn't for you! You want to go somewhere, you drive your gran's station wagon." Mr. Bleasdale was deeply tanned and was wearing a checked sport coat and a straw hat; he had the same funny accent that Jimmy Keays had. Bonnie bet he lived in one of the fancy retirement communities that kept springing up all over. Old people sure seemed to like Phoenix.

"No one took anything." Jimmy had been composed as all hell as he greeted his grandfather. "I borrowed it. I got bored. And no one ever cured boredom by driving a station wagon around."

Jimmy and his grandfather had left an hour ago, batting their argument back and forth as they went. Jimmy Keays had given Bonnie a lazy wave as he followed his grandfather out of the station. But he didn't say goodbye. He just left her there.

It put Bonnie in a bad mood. He hadn't even asked if he could see her again. And they had unfinished business. At least in Bonnie's book.

The cops wouldn't let her leave under her own steam, even though her pa wasn't easy to get hold of, which put her in an even worse mood. Pa had never hooked up a phone in their trailer, so Bonnie had to call Mrs. Chisum next door. The old woman wasn't happy about it, as it was prime time for her stories, but she was eventually coaxed into knocking on the Browns' trailer to see if Bonnie's dad was home. Bonnie could hear her yelling for Pa, but Pa wasn't there. So Bonnie set about calling all his buddies until she eventually tracked him down at the Ace High bar, after a tip from Howie Gough's wife, who complained long and loud about how Howie drank away their rent money instead of working like he was supposed to. Bonnie's father was a leopard of the same spots, so Bonnie wasn't at all surprised to find that he was holding up the bar next to Howie. The bartender was kind enough to force the phone on him.

Pa didn't own a car anymore and so had to come get her on foot, which gave him time to build up a head of steam. The beers had lubricated his tongue too.

"Oh, hush," she snapped, as they walked out of the police station. She couldn't take his stomach-aching. "Here," she handed over a dollar from her pay. "Go get yourself another beer at the Ace High. It's on me, for your troubles. That should settle you."

He forgot his speechifying immediately and peeled away to go get another drink. She doubted he'd be home before she went to bed tonight. Sighing, Bonnie headed for Doc Slaughter's clinic. There was still half an hour till close and she hadn't packed up her desk yet. She stepped in, put the coffee on and set herself up at reception for the last half hour of this sleepy Friday afternoon. She was out of sorts, the shine of her first paycheck tarnished by Jimmy Keays and his dumb stolen Cadillac. He'd gotten her arrested, and then all he did was wave when he left? And after all that "I don't do casual" nonsense? Leaving with just a wave seemed pretty damn casual to Bonnie.

She picked away at it like a scab as she waited out the last of the workday and kept picking at it as she packed up and locked up. There was only one phone call to the clinic that whole time, and it was someone who hung up on her. There was not one blessed thing to take her mind off her gripes and by the time she locked the front door behind her, she was a regular old thundercloud, knowing she still had a long, hot walk home. Today was the worst. But then she turned around.

And there was Jimmy K-E-A-Y-S, sitting on the hood of an old Buick station wagon, right in front of the clinic. Waiting for her.

Bonnie froze, caught somewhere between so mad at him she wanted to push him off the hood and so glad to see him she wanted to squeal with delight.

"I reckon it's got to be a hundred and five degrees today," he grouched, like they'd been right in the middle of a conversation. "Even in the shade here." He was still barefoot, she noted, and still hiding behind his big, shiny, old aviator sunglasses.

Bonnie put her hands on her hips and fixed him with a withering stare. "Is that all you've got to say to me?"

"Hell. You only just came out. I have to start the conversation somewhere."

"Well, I'd suggest starting it with ‘I'm sorry I got you arrested, Miss Brown. And I'm especially sorry I didn't so much as say goodbye when I ditched you at the police station. Where you were under arrest because I stole a car.'"

"Ah," he swatted her words away with a flick of his hand, "I didn't steal anything. I only borrowed it. And you weren't charged, so what are you whining about?" He slid off the hood and slunk to the passenger side, hopping a little on the hot asphalt. He opened the door and gestured to it. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Coming where?" Bonnie put her nose in the air. "And how did you find me?"

"You said you worked for a dentist."

"There's more than one dentist in town."

"Yeah, turns out there's a lot of them. I called them all. And then I called here, and you answered."

"You hung up on me?" Bonnie was caught between astonishment and outrage, pleasure and annoyance. He seemed to have that effect on her. "Why didn't you say anything?" If he'd talked to her, she wouldn't be in this thundery state.

"So, you're not coming?" He jerked his head at the front seat of the Buick.

"Coming where?" She didn't see why she should make it easy for him, even though she knew she was most definitely getting in that car with him. But he didn't need to know that yet.

"To the pool," he said impatiently. "You got any better ideas on a day like this?"

"The pool?" She lost her battle with playing it cool right then. "You have a pool?" She cocked her head, suspicious that it was too good to be true. "Or are we stealing the pool too?"

"We're not stealing or borrowing—this is a straight-out honest pool. Come on, or I'm going without you."

"But I don't have a suit!"

"Can you just get in the damn car? It's a million degrees out here and my feet are cooking."

Bonnie debated with herself whether she could get him to stop by her trailer to get her suit, but she didn't want him to know where she lived. Not yet. There'd be time enough to show him the horrors of Shitsville—she didn't want to scare him off right out of the gate. Because his family, with their Cadillacs and pools, certainly didn't seem to be the down on their luck sort.

"Fine. But if I don't have a suit with me, I'll have to just paddle my feet." Bonnie did her best slink to the passenger side of the car.

"It's not that kind of pool, princess. It's an all-or-nothing kind of deal. There's no shallow end to paddle in." He slammed the door behind her after she slid into the Buick, and jogged around to the driver's side.

"Besides," he puffed as he joined her. "I took care of the whole suit problem already. I told you—I don't do casual. If I make a plan, it's made down to the detail." He reached into the back seat and grabbed a package. "Here you go. I had to guess your size, but I took a good look at you earlier, so I think I guessed right."

Too surprised to speak (which was rare for her), Bonnie opened the package. It was a bikini. She'd never owned a two-piece bathing suit before.

"The straps tighten, in case I was off on the sizing." He was watching her intently with those silvery eyes.

Bonnie held up the red and white gingham shorts and top. "I love it!" she squealed. She lunged across the car and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

He grinned, and this time there was nothing foxy about it. He was like a kid. For the first time she noticed the freckles across his nose. "You do want a swim, then?"

"Oh, my goodness yes!" It beat walking home in the baking heat to swelter all alone in her trailer. "Your folks don't mind?" she asked, as he drove the chugging old Buick out of town.

"My folks? They're back in Minneapolis. They don't mind a thing."

"Your grandparents, then."

"The pool's for everyone to use, isn't it? Why should they care if I bring a friend." He winked at her. "Although I may not have told Gran I was picking up a girl when I asked to borrow her car."

"You asked this time, huh?"

"After that scene in the police station? I'm a lot of things, honey, but dumb isn't one of them. Of course I asked this time."

Bonnie was stunned when she saw where he was taking her. It was the other Gardens! The luxurious mobile home park on the northwestern edge of town. "This is where your grandparents live?"

"I know. Square, isn't it?" He sounded embarrassed. "They're here most of the year now. And even though I don't rate Phoenix, it sure shits on Minneapolis." He darted a look at her.

Bonnie didn't think the place was square at all. The roads were paved, there were shade trees and green lawns, and all the trailers were just so pretty. The striped awnings rippled in the hot breeze, and . . . oh . . . hold on . . . Bonnie couldn't believe it. They had air-conditioning units! Wow. She thought of her own trailer, which was like the inside of a gas oven on days like today. Who knew you could air-condition a trailer?

When Jimmy took her into his grandparents' trailer, crossing a little porch under its peachy awning, Bonnie felt like she'd stepped into the pages of a magazine. The place was split level, with a wood veneer kitchen on the upper level, along with a little dining nook, and on the lower level there was a lounge like people had on the television sitcoms. It reminded her of Samantha the witch's house in Bewitched. There were pretty floral drapes at the windows, and a thick shag carpet on the floor. Bonnie had never been in a trailer like it. And it was cool as a fresh fall morning thanks to that humming air-conditioning unit. She craned her neck to check out the kitchen. Good Lord. It had twin sinks, and robin's-egg-blue appliances. Even the refrigerator was blue!

Bonnie wouldn't complain about living in a trailer like this. The place even smelled good, like lemon-scented Pledge.

"Gran, I'm back." Jimmy tossed his keys onto the Formica bench in the kitchen. "My friend is just going to change for a swim in the bathroom, okay?" He turned to Bonnie and lowered his voice to a whisper. "Don't worry, she popped one of her pills just before I left. She'll be dozing until suppertime."

His gran certainly wasn't calling back, or coming to see what was going on. Bon bet it was fine to stretch out in bed in this fancy trailer on a hot evening, submerging yourself in the chilled air for a late siesta.

Jimmy led her down a skylit hallway to the bathroom. "Here you go, get changed and we'll go to the pool."

The bathroom was another joyful revelation. There was pretty wallpaper showing tiny bouquets of tight little rosebuds and daisies, and more robin's-egg-blue accents; this time the bathtub and the his-and-hers sinks were shiny bright blue, as was the shower curtain, which was fringed with white tassels. Bonnie wished fiercely that she lived somewhere this nice. One day, she promised herself. One day she'd find herself in a Gardens like this one—and not just for a visit.

She emerged from the bathroom shyly, her shirt with the Peter Pan collar loose over the new gingham bikini. Jimmy Keays had sized her up pretty well. It wasn't a perfect fit, but it was close enough.

Jimmy whistled when he saw her. "You're a stone fox, princess."

"You ain't so bad yourself." Bonnie looked him over approvingly. He was wearing a pair of tight navy swim shorts, with red and white stripes down the hips. And that's all he was wearing, except for the leather necklace. And he was all kinds of fine. There wasn't an ounce of fat on him; he was ropy with muscle, and tawny from the sun.

"Guess we make a pair, then," he said, his gaze sliding all over her in ways she liked.

"Guess we do."

He opened the door for her like a perfect gentleman and they eased out into the throbbing heat of the July evening. Avoiding the paved paths, which had banked the day's sun, they lazily crossed the shady lawns, heading for the pool, which was the mobile park's heart. Of course it was crowded on a day like today, mostly with old people, the women in bathing caps, and the men in singlets or T-shirts, but there were kids splashing about too.

"A lot of people here look after their grandkids for the summer," Jimmy sighed, "so the pool is always infested with kids."

Bonnie didn't care—a pool was a pool! And this one was a pretty aqua blue, so vivid it seemed to glow. It was set in the center of a concrete square, surrounded by picnic tables and cheery floral beach umbrellas.

And it was deliciously cold. The moment she got in, she felt her body tingle with the bright delight of it. "I may never leave," she sighed, as she surfaced, slicking down her wet hair with her hands.

"Don't," Jimmy said. "Stick around."

And he meant it. Jimmy Keays aimed to keep her and, as he'd promised, there was nothing casual about him. That first night, she stayed until almost midnight. They swam as the sun set, as people broke out their barbecues and the night air filled with the mouth-watering scent of beef sizzling on the grill. They accepted offers of burgers and pickles from the picnickers, who worried they were going hungry, and then they sat on the edge of the pool talking as people went to bed, the lights in the fancy trailers turning off, one by one. And Jimmy invited her back to swim the next day. And the next. And after work the next week he picked her up from the clinic every single day in his grandmother's Buick.

After that first day, there wasn't a day that they didn't see each other.

The old people got used to seeing them necking on their beach towels or making out in the front seat of the Buick. Sometimes, when Jimmy's grandfather was at his poker games and his grandmother had popped her little pill, they snuck into Jimmy's tiny room in the trailer and made love, silently. Bonnie's favorite times were lying sweaty and satisfied in Jimmy's arms, feeling the delicious wash of the air-conditioning over her naked body, soothed by the slow circles his hands rubbed on her back, as they whispered secrets back and forth.

At the end of the month, on the night Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, Bonnie and Jimmy had the pool to themselves. Everyone else was clustered around their televisions, reverently hushed as they watched to see if the moon landing would be a triumph or a tragedy, and Bonnie could hear the newsreaders' voices drifting from the open windows. That was the night Jimmy told her he loved her. And, as the whole world was watching a man step foot on the moon, which lit the sky above them with romantic silvery rays, Jimmy Keays proposed. They'd known each other only a few weeks, but neither of them had any doubts. They were young and struck by lightning. And as history happened, watched by all the people in the hushed trailers around them, Bonnie Brown said yes, and they made love in the pool.

The other Gardens was a magic place, out of time. The real world went away for that enchanted window of time with Jimmy Keays, in that artificially green garden in the desert. And for that magic time, in that unreal place, Bonnie was totally and completely happy. She was going to be Mrs. Jimmy Keays, and she was getting out of Shitsville. No one was ever going to say that Bonnie Keays was down on her luck. Instead, they'd look at her and think, you lucky bitch. And all because she slid into a yellow Cadillac that day and met Jimmy K-E-A-Y-S.