1964

1

Saturday, June 20, 1964

As her vision became accustomed to the dimness of the rural night, sixteen-year-old Wendy Adams gazed through the windshield, lifted her eyebrows, frowned, and then glared at Frank Baird. The Justice High School senior simply wouldn't give up. This was his big surprise! This is why he'd told her to keep her eyes closed for the past five minutes. Leaving the VFW dance early had all been a ploy to get her alone and to this spot.

As Frank inched closer, Wendy shook her head and apprehensively hissed, "You're pretty sure of yourself. Do you honestly believe getting me up here will somehow change the rules? This is beneath even you. Now, let's turn the car around and go home."

"Ah, come on, Babe," Frank begged, switching off the long, sleek, '63 Pontiac's motor and moving across the wide bench seat to where his lips were just inches from hers. "Just a few minutes out here in the moonlight will change your life forever! Besides, with your body, those blue eyes, those full lips, and your perfect chin, you're wasting what every other girl in school wishes she had. I mean you're as close to Sandra Dee as Mississippi has ever seen."

He was attractive. He did have a certain animal charm. So, as he dipped his head even lower, she was tempted to meet him halfway, to give in to his will and compromise her own, but the thought of sitting beside her mother at church the next morning caused her deeply ingrained moral fiber to once more wrestle control from her suddenly fluttering heart.

Pushing herself up against the passenger door, she hesitantly announced, "We're going home now."

"Not unless you're walking," he replied with a grin. "And it's a long way back to town. Just might wear those heels out before you get there."

Even as she glared at him, he edged closer, never taking his eyes off hers as he reached over and switched on the radio. Suddenly, the strains of Lesley Gore's "It's My Party" filled the Pontiac's interior. A few moments later, his lips once more within inches of hers, Frank whispered, "And it's our party, too."

Ricky Nelson couldn't have charmed her using such a cheap line. It not only ruined the moment, it reset Wendy's moral radar. Reaching for the door handle, she yanked it, spun to the right, and stepped out into the warm summer night. Slamming the Pontiac's door behind her, she took a half-dozen steps down toward the creek before stopping to lean up against a century-old elm tree. As her blue eyes stared down into the barely moving water, she heard a car door open, close, and then footsteps in the grass behind her. She was hoping he was coming to apologize, but those hopes were quickly dashed.

"Wasted trip," Frank barked as he took a spot on the other side of the eighty-foot tree. "I guess I'm just not your type. In fact, I don't think you have a type. You shoot every guy down before the game even starts. Last fall, you were crowned the homecoming queen, and tonight you won the title of the ice princess."

She moved forward and glanced around the elm's large trunk at Frank. He was tall, a bit over six-foot, lean but toned, his shoulders wide and hips narrow. He had deep brown eyes and wavy black hair. He was not handsome in the way Hollywood defined it, but he did have rugged good looks that made him stand out in a crowd. Sadly, those gifts framed an attitude proving he believed himself to be God's gift to the world. It was his attitude that canceled out his myriad positive traits, as well as shaking all desire from her head and heart. And his smug brashness was the reason she found the strength to coldly declare, "You've accomplished nothing more than proving you're not a gentleman."

"Never claimed to be one," he shot back.

At least he was honest. She'd hand him that much. He didn't want to be the school's best citizen. He never claimed to walk the straight and narrow. He only wanted what was in front of him at the moment.

Tearing her eyes from his lustful gaze, Wendy tried to understand her own convoluted feelings. Why was his pull so strong? Why, when every boy in school dreamed of going out with her, did she say yes to Frank? Why did she have to be the good girl when she wanted something no good girl should want?

Pushing herself off the tree, Wendy took two steps forward and glanced around at the place the kids called Lovers Park. She had to admit, in a cheap sort of way it was romantic. The moonlight, the breeze rustling through the trees, and the gurgling of the slow-moving creek did create a natural setting for intimacy. Though there were some clouds, it was still clear enough that the stars did offer something to wish on as the solitude brought about a false sense of independence and maturity. Even nature seemed to be whispering, "Give in to your desires." While she was tempted, she couldn't listen—at least not tonight and surely not with Frank. But each second she was mute, as each moment went by with no words spoken, it likely convinced him that this trip had not been for naught. Even now, he probably thought she was reconsidering. So, she had to say something, no matter what it was, to prove she was in control.

"I don't know about wasted," she began, trying to be forceful and bold, "I mean, I've always wondered what this place looked like. I've heard whispers at school, you know, from those kind of girls, but all of my friends are a bit too proper to visit this spot."

"They're not that proper." Frank grinned. "They just don't admit they've been here."

She ignored both his insinuation and the fact that he'd once more closed the distance between them. As she felt his breath on her neck, she knew she had to restart the conversation or face fighting him off again.

"Isn't this where you had the hot dog cookout I heard about a month ago?"

"How did you hear about it?" He pulled back, seeming genuinely surprised. "And besides, it was more than two months back."

Wendy grinned; she'd gotten him to back off. "Well," she sang out, "Becky admitted to me she was here, and it wasn't really a cookout, but rather a make-out session."

"Yeah," he admitted, "and Becky was a willing participant."

"That's not the way she told it," Wendy shot back, fearing she had once more lost control.

Frank laughed. "We didn't roast hot dogs, but we were doing some cooking and we did have a fire. Want to see where it was?"

"I'm not sure I need to get any farther from the car," she replied apprehensively.

Moving closer, he reached out to touch her left hand and, in a suddenly assuring tone, "You can trust me. I won't make you do anything you don't want to do."

She hesitated, took a deep breath, and shook her head just hard enough for her blonde ponytail to bounce. "Nobody makes me do anything I don't want to do."

"I kind of got that," he replied.

Wendy took his hand and allowed him to lead her down by the creek and deeper into the shade of a half-dozen sixty-foot trees. When, after only a dozen steps, he put his arm around her shoulder and draped his hand dangerously close to her chest, she wondered if this had been such a good idea.

"That's where the fire was," he said, using his right hand to point to a spot down by the water.

The moonlight was just bright enough to see where the rocks had circled the space. As her eyes grew accustomed to the shadows, she noted there were still a few charred logs piled in the center.

"It must have been a pretty big blaze," she...