SUMMER OF '62
By Rick RothAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Rick Roth
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4389-1154-0 Chapter One
The four girls stepped out of the blue, 1955 Ford four-door sedan parked on the narrow brick-paved street. Side by side they climbed the steep, grassy hill toward the sound of "Mony Mony" by Tommy James and The Shondells coming from inside a high, grand, impressive-looking mansion.
"Do you think we'll be leaving the party before midnight?" Linda asked.
"Before dawn maybe," Marsha answered. "Midnight's a little iffy."
"Linda, you're almost eighteen!" Amber said. "You've got to get over this dopey innocence, just stay out all night for once."
"Dopey, that's a good name for her," Holly said.
"Stay out all night, that's impossible," Linda said. "Besides, things are fine just the way they are ... really."
"All right, let's leave her alone," Amber said. "She doesn't know that many people around here yet and she has exceedingly strict parents. Give her time to fit in."
Crossing the vast front lawn studded with mature oak, hickory, and maple trees, Linda paused to admire the spectacular show of lights below them. Lights from cars illuminated the four dark patterns of highway with two lanes leading to Rockport's downtown district and two lanes following the winding Mississippi river to the nearest town a short drive away. Across the river in the distance, lights from homes glimmered softly and colorful lights reflected off the dark water from the boats as they passed by.
"Linda, what are you doing?" asked Amber.
"Nothing, just looking."
"We're not here to see the sights, we're here for the party," said Holly.
"Why are we at this party anyway? Did someone invite us?"
"Of course not, we're crashing," Marsha said. "We're here to drink free beer, eat free food, and have guys tell us how much they want us. Really, the only reason we go to any party."
Linda sighed. "I thought it was to meet new and interesting guys."
"Linda, this isn't Fort Lauderdale," Marsha said. "This is Rockport, Iowa."
The four girls soon split up. Holly and Amber went inside and danced in the spacious front room while Marsha sat on the front lawn among a group of college students circled around a pony keg of beer.
Linda, left alone, wandered about the grounds then was drawn to an altercation involving a cluster of girls in gang-member jackets. When the argument was settled she followed the crowd into the kitchen and leaned against a black refrigerator that matched the black, white, and stainless steel dcor of the room, sipping a drink someone handed her. She watched couples dancing in the next room, looked up at the kitchen clock, finished her drink, and then wandered away from the music, high voices, and laughter to explore the open rooms on each side of a long hallway.
The corridor led to a staircase and a second level which she by-passed to browse the hallway's gallery of oil paintings. A hand-carved hardwood door just to her left suddenly opened and a dark-haired girl in tight black jeans and a black t-shirt emerged from the bathroom. The clothes the girl wore were so unlike her own, the clothes Carla thought a proper Catholic girl would wear to a chaperoned party and not the keg party she found herself in the middle of. But by now Linda stopped caring about what other people thought of her appearance or caring about Carla and the oppressive household she lived in. She peered into the vacant bathroom. The room seemed as large as her bedroom and replete with the most ornate bath fixtures she had ever seen.
The open room to her left was a rust-colored library, and stepping inside she was overwhelmed by its size and the dark wood bookshelves that lined all four walls and reached almost to a lofty ceiling. Not like her bookcases at home, or like the cold public library downtown, this was a warm, comfortable room she felt at home in. The space between the bookcases and the high ceiling, with elaborate gold moldings, was filled with sculptured busts of various authors. High-backed armchairs and a sofa surrounded the fireplace and in front of the sofa was a low coffee table with books stacked upon its high-gloss surface.
The room smelled of oil paintings and old books, more books, she thought, than one could read in a lifetime. Linda reclined on the sofa, and closing her eyes she could see herself, on a cold rainy day, lying on this very sofa with a fire crackling in the fireplace, reading one of the great books of adventure or romance and daydreaming that someday, someone like Heathcliff or Rhett Butler would sweep her away on a romantic adventure, away from her uninspired and unimportant life. A pleasant chime from the library's wall clock brought Linda back to reality and reminded her that it was time to look for a ride home. She found Holly and Amber but they were reluctant to leave, so she left to find her own ride.
Linda stepped outside through a sliding glass door, crossed a wide flagstone patio, and out into the cool night air. The music followed her as she scanned the dark shadows of strangers still arriving and leaving until she recognized someone from the party. She hurried to catch up to him.
Todd Sellers closed the distance between himself and Jackie Sharrod. She was leaving the party early and walking toward a parked car with two of her friends already inside. Jackie was finally alone. The timing was right with the moonlit sky, the invigorating spring night atmosphere, and the scenic view of the river. He had to think of something to say, something no one had ever said to her before. Todd moved closer and was just about to speak when a girl from somewhere behind him called out.
"Excuse me."
He ignored the sound of her voice.
"Excuse me."
Todd stopped and turned around.
Linda jogged up to him. "Are you leaving?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Oh, great. I have this problem. I should be getting home but my ride seems to be passed out on the front lawn, so I was wondering if I might bum a ride home with you."
Todd turned away in time to see Jackie climbing into the front seat of her friend's car. The red Pontiac pulled away. "Where do you live?" he asked.
"The west end, but I could give you some gas money."
"That's ok, I was heading in that direction now anyway. I could drop you off on the way. My car is over there. What's your name? Do you always bum rides from strangers?"
"No, but I have to get home. I'm Linda. Tell me your name and we won't be strangers."
Todd liked the shy way she grinned. "I'm Todd."
He led her to a '57 Chevrolet Bel Air hardtop, its deep, black finish shinning beneath a nearby streetlight. Linda sat shotgun and ran her hand over the new black and white Naugahyde interior as Todd closed her door and walked around the car. She liked the fresh leather smell and the over-sized dice hanging from the rear-view mirror. Driving toward the lights of town she felt a nervous excitement as a 1960 Ford Starliner pulled even with them and revved its engine. Todd, however, remained indifferent, and then became annoyed when the Ford persisted in trying to race him as they drove on the westbound one-way street through Rockport.
Linda watched his face while they passed the downtown streetlights. Who was this guy? "Are you going back to the party?" she said.
"No, I don't care that much for parties."
"Me neither. Where are you going then?"
"Nowhere. Maybe out on the river road. Sometimes at night I like to be out on the highway by myself. It's...
