“Wait! Wait!” Dad interrupted, seated across from me in his favorite armchair. “Lori, don’t answer for Joey. I want to hear it from him.” He turned his angry eyes toward me again. “Now, explain where you’ve been and with whom until the early hours of the morning, with your breath reeking of beer—”

“It’s just barely midnight, Dad—”

“Joey! Answer me!”

“Well…you see…it’s like this,” I started. Then a rush of words streamed from my mouth. “Mrs. Glover asked me to…no, actually, she’s paying me…to let Blaise Howarth, her grandson—”

“Blaise?” He turned to Lori. “Your boss’s grandson? What is he, like 20, 21?”

“He’s 18, Dad,” I corrected. “Anyway, as I was saying…where was I?”

“Mrs. Glover is paying you to—” Lori started to say.

“Lori! I don’t need you to act as his teleprompter.”

“She asked me to allow Blaise to be my personal tour guide to the sights of LA and environs while I’m here for the summer. You know, museums, landmarks, amusement parks…and concerts…like today. Blaise took me to Six Flags Magic Mountain! We went on all the rides. Some of them were real scary like that new one, Freefall. And there’s aqua shows, musical theater, bike stunt exhibitions…We even fed the koi fish they keep in these ponds! And the thing is, Mrs. Glover’s paying me!”

“We’ll discuss that odd part of it in a minute. I believe Six Flags closes well before midnight. It’s a 20-minute drive from Valencia to Sherman Oaks. Where did you go after the park?”

“Blaise has some friends who are in a musical group, and they were playing tonight at a club on the Strip—”

“I assume they’re not a gospel group. A punk rock band, perhaps?”

“Cow punk actually. Anyway, they put us on the guest list and Blaise really wanted to see them—”

“Did it occur to you that staying out late at a rock club on the Sunset Strip was not on your list of approved things to do this summer? And they served you liquor? They ought to lose their license!”

“No! The beer came after the club!”

“After the club?”

“His friends finished their set and invited us to go with them up on Mulholland Drive to overlook the city. It’s a beautiful sight, Dad. Like a sea of lights in a huge bowl surrounded by shadowy hills.”

“And the beer?”

“The guys had this trick routine where they get an adult to go and buy a couple of six-packs. They let him keep the change. Blaise gave him a twenty—”

“This kid doesn’t sound like someone you should hang around with, Joey. The whole point of you staying with me each summer was to keep you away from bad influences like Rafe Metheny. I know his father was using him to corrupt you. He’s the one who encouraged you to be in that Dickens’ play dressed as a girl. And the one who got you to traipse around town like a supermodel for that alleged class project—”

“Rafe didn’t force me to do any of those things. And it wasn’t an ‘alleged’ class project. It got him an A for best short subject in his film class,” I pointed out, raising my voice.

“Joey looked great in it too,” Lori interjected. “Do you want to see it? Joey gave me a VHS of it last summer.”

“No, God no! Lori, stop condoning his behavior!”

“I guess I lost count of what I drank. Blaise told me it was two cans. I don’t remember. But, you know I just fall asleep when I drink—”

“I know that? When have you drunk liquor? Not in my presence! Was it that son of a…was it Rafe?”

“I refuse to answer that question on the grounds it might incriminate me. So…Blaise let me snooze. When I woke up it was way past the time I told Lori I’d be back home. Blaise offered to come in and explain everything, but I told him it wasn’t necessary. Being a reasonable person, rational and balanced and everything, you’d understand…”

“It’s too bad. I would’ve wanted to speak to that young man. Well, maybe next time.”

“Next time?” I asked, incredulously. “But you just had a shitfit about me coming home late.”

“You mentioned something about Mrs. Glover paying you?”

Lori leaned over Dad in his armchair and brandished a check before his eyes. “Here, Ross. I was in the office today and Mrs. Glover personally cut this check for Joey. He’ll get paid weekly.”

“Well, well. Mrs. Glover is pretty generous. $100 for a week of sight-seeing?”

“It’s not every day. Maybe two or three days a week.”

“But, Joey, you do realize that Mrs. Glover is doing this for Blaise’s benefit not yours. She wants someone who’ll be a good influence on him and keep him out of trouble this summer. She knows you come from good stock (as she likes to say) and have a responsible head on your shoulders,” Lori declared.

“If that’s the case, Joey,” Dad admonished. “You have to be the smart one and steer him away from dubious behavior and potentially dangerous activities. Earn your pay. Prove Mrs. Glover right in trusting you for the job.”

“I’m pretty sure we’re not going to see his friends play on the Strip again anytime soon. It’s just a one-off because he bumped into them when we were at Redondo Beach earlier in the week. I wanted to see Motley Crue instead. They were the Friday Night Concert at Six Flags tonight—”

“Last night,” Dad corrected me. “You must be tired after the long day you’ve had. Wash up and go to bed. We’re going to have a real family day tomorrow and then, on the 4th, we’re taking in the Dodgers game in the afternoon and fireworks in the evening. It’s going to be fun, fun, fun, son!”

Saturday’s “Family Day” turned out to be a road trip in the morning to some commercial lots in Canoga Park. Some buildings had been demolished recently, and the land was put up for sale that summer. As we drove around the perimeter of the space in Dad’s Land Cruiser, he explained that a client of Dad’s firm was interested in the property for any number of eventual uses. There were plans to revamp Fallbrook Square in West Hills nearby and turn the open-air mall into an enclosed, indoor complex very much like the new Galleria in Sherman Oaks. That would spur a boom in commercial and residential construction in Canoga Park and even east toward Northridge.

“Things are looking up for the economy, ever since Reagan took office. Your father’s got a path to upper management at the firm. With all the business we’re soliciting, I could get a sweet deal in profit participation if I make Vice President. We’re talking millions, Joey.”

At one point, he stepped out of the car and looked both ways up and down Topanga Canyon Boulevard. Shielding his eyes from the late morning sun, Dad shouted to Lori and I as we slowly approached the spot he was standing on.

“Look! You can see Fallbrook Square a little to the northwest of where we are. The smog’s not as bad today. Because it’s the weekend,” explained Dad.

“Dad, it’s really hot. Can we just get back in the car now?”

I only realized a few minutes after we got back in the car that Dad was driving us to Fallbrook Square.

“Next on the agenda is shopping at Fallbrook Square. Right after lunch.”

“Dad, shopping? We can do that back home at The Galleria.”

“Well, we’re almost there anyway. And I’ve never eaten at the Nibbler’s they have here. Lori, remember we went to the Nibbler’s in Beverly Hills almost two years ago. Of course that was for dinner. I’m anxious to see what they’ve got on their lunch menu.”

“Some family day,” I muttered to myself.

“You’ll like their Patty Melt, Joey. It’s considered the best in the Southland. Your father always orders the Chicken Croquettes—”

“They really pile on the mashed potatoes too,” Dad said, turning his head slightly to address me in the back seat.

Our first stop after lunch was The Sport Chalet.

“I’m going to go look at the golf department. I wonder if they stock Callaway drivers. I’ve heard they do.”

“What’s wrong with the driver you already have,” I asked.

“Your father broke the shaft on his driver last week. His drive on the first hole went way out of bounds, onto McCaw Avenue.”

“I had to use a 3-wood the rest of the round. I lost almost 30 yards every time off the tee.”

“Mom told you to take an anger management course. Maybe you wouldn’t have tried to run over Rafe’s dad with your car after he fired you—”

“Don’t bring up that family. Any of them. I hope those hotels Metheny’s going to build for Harriot all collapse into heaps of rubble.”

“You don’t mean that, honey,” Lori quickly said.

“The hell I don’t. Now, you take Joey into the baseball section and get him a Dodgers jersey and cap. I want him to look like a real fan tomorrow, not a tourist. Got a favorite Dodger you want their number on the back?”

“I guess Fernando.”

“Good choice. See you in a few.”

They were running low on Fernando Valenzuela #34 jerseys. After all, he was without a doubt the most popular Dodger of them all. The salesperson shook his head and went through the rack, searching for something smaller than X-Large. Finally giving up, he presented me with one of the X-Large jerseys, a solicitous smile on his face. When I put it on, the tails of the jersey almost reached the tops of my knees, almost making it appear as if I were wearing a Dodgers uniform shift dress. I must say it was a cute look, nevertheless.

“It’s OK, Joey. Think of it this way. You only have to wear it one time in your whole life. And your father can wear it after that if he wants to,” Lori suggested.

“Now I need a Dodgers cap that’ll fit my head,” I laughed.

“No problem, miss. The caps are adjustable.” The salesperson pointed to the shelves on the near wall. “Are you two sisters?”

“She’s my stepdaughter,” Lori replied.

The Houston Astros were beating the Dodgers before a capacity crowd of over 50,000 fans. My Dad was never a sports fan of any sort. He grew up in Los Angeles but was in college in New York by the time both the Dodgers in baseball and the Lakers in basketball had moved to the city. The Rams of the NFL never appealed to him, and he was not a college sports fan so neither USC nor UCLA received any allegiance from him. The seats we were in were company boxes. They were available because no one else was spending the weekend of the 4th in town. Upper management was either losing their shirts in Las Vegas casinos or playing golf at Pebble Beach up the coast.

“Don’t spread this around, Joey, but if I didn’t have to have seats for the game to attend the fireworks show later tonight, I’d have scheduled a round of golf at North Ranch. I’m paying $400 a month to them, and I haven’t played there in weeks. What a waste! At least we’ll get a good meal at El Compadre and a slam-bang fireworks show to make the day worthwhile.”

“What about getting to spend a weekend with your eldest child?”

“That too.” He patted me on the back. “Couldn’t they find you a smaller size jersey?”

“You know they sell out Fernando’s jerseys.”

“Say, Lori, didn’t you say the Glovers have season boxes right behind the Dodgers’ dugout?”

“I don’t see them,” Lori said, after a survey of the seats behind the Dodgers’ dugout. “Maybe they decided to spend the weekend in Palm Springs. They’ve been known to stay there in a rental on vacation.”

Of course, Blaise had told me they were planning to attend the game, have a post-game dinner at El Compadre, and then return to the Stadium for the fireworks display. Is it possible they decided at the last minute to change their plans? I had been worried about how I was going to be able to avoid bumping into them at some point in the day. My Dad would screw the pooch as they say. On the other hand, he was quite enamored of the fact that Mrs. Glover was paying me a hundred dollars a week to essentially chaperone her grandson. What’s a little subterfuge for a good cause?

“I really wanted to speak to Mrs. Glover about this arrangement she has with Joey. Not that you need it, son, but I’d put in an extra good word for you. Does she know you’re entering an Ivy League school this Fall?”

“It was mentioned in passing, Dad. I don’t think she’s overly impressed with anything East Coast wise. Mr. Glover went to USC. I think he played varsity football back when they wore leather helmets.”

“Enough of that, Joey. Mrs. Glover thinks very highly of you. She told me you act like a perfect…uh…gentleman.”

The tall cup of cola I had downed in the early innings of the game made the call of nature blatant and I excused myself to find the restrooms on the concourse of the stadium. The concourse was packed with people mobbing the concession stands. A thousand voices assaulted my ears as I tried to locate the men’s room. Intermittently, a roar would come from the crowd, dying down to an incessant buzz between pitches. I saw a sign with an arrow pointing the way to the restrooms. I moved quickly and slipped into the line waiting outside the men’s room. I was thinking about whistling while the line moved at a snail’s pace when a familiar voice surprised me. It was Blaise Howarth. Standing next to him was Mr. Glover, his grandfather, a broad smile on his face.

“Joey, you should have called and told us your dad decided to come to the game. You could have been our guests in the Stadium Club where you and Lori could have dined in air-conditioned luxury with grandmother and Emily. They have a dress code, so you had to give us some notice you were coming. What you’re wearing wouldn’t be allowed in the Club. It’s why I’m wearing this goofy outfit. Button-down collar shirt and dress slacks at a ballgame?”

Mr. Glover reached out his hand. “So, you’re Joey. Even in that baseball jersey and cap, you’re a stunning young woman. I can see why Blaise couldn’t stop talking about you.”

I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Glover. I’m sure Blaise was exaggerating my qualities. But thank you for your compliments. I saw you at Emily’s birthday party. You were taking polaroids of everyone.”

“But I missed taking your photo. What a shame.”

“We’re heading back to the Stadium Club. Maybe we’ll see you at El Compadre after the game or at the fireworks show.”

“I’m not sure what Dad wants to do. He’s unpredictable.”

He leaned down to whisper in my ear. “Joey, do you know you’re in the wrong line? This is for the men’s room. The ladies’ room is over there.”

“Oh my God. You’re right. Sitting in the sun with no shade for 5 innings baked my brain, I guess.”

“We have to go, Blaise. They’re waiting for us. See you again soon, Joey,” Mr. Glover said. I watched them walk away down the concourse for a good minute before I relaxed. I was now only four persons away from the men’s room door. I turned to find the man behind me staring quizzically at me. I smiled and quickly turned away.

“I told you to go easy on the ballpark food, Joey,” Dad reminded me in an annoyed tone. The Land Cruiser was headed back to Sherman Oaks instead of El Compadre Restaurant after the game. Lying down in the back seat, my only response was a groan.

“Joey has a very delicate stomach,” Lori said in my defense.

“Let’s see. Two sodas, a bag of peanuts, half a bucket of popcorn, and two 10-inch hotdogs. That’s enough to sicken an entire army platoon, for chrissake!” Dad’s voice boomed in the enclosed space.

“When we get home, we’ll put you to bed, have you drink plenty of water, and apply a heating pad to your abdomen. You should be fine in a few hours,” Lori wisely itemized.

“What about dinner? We had reservations at El Compadre. We’ll have to call and cancel. And what about the fireworks show? I was looking forward to that.” Dad was pissed.

“I’ll put some steaks on the grill. And we can watch the Hollywood Bowl fireworks show on TV. It’ll be fine.”

“Next time, just eat like a human being not a hungry hippo,” Dad sighed.

“If I don’t make it through the night, I’m bequeathing my Fernando jersey to you, Dad. And the cap too. It’s adjustable.” I lurched forward and powered down the window. Making retching sounds, I almost managed to projectile vomit. Thankfully, I didn’t.

“That was a close call, Joey. I’m not too keen on cleaning vomit off the back seat of the car. We’re five minutes away from home. Just hold it in.”

Monday the 5th was a Federal Holiday, so Dad stayed home. Or, rather, he played 18 holes of golf at the country club. So much for “family day.” When he returned from his round of golf, he just lounged around the pool in his swim trunks, drinking iced tea. Meanwhile, I made phone calls to Mom and Erica back on Long Island. She told me they were planning to come out to LA and visit for a few days in August. I replied that she needed to give me a head’s up when they were coming because I had a busy schedule. When she asked what I was so busy with, I told her I’d explain when she arrived. That didn’t sit well with her, but she was 3,000 miles away so what could she do about it.

Blaise called late in the afternoon and proposed spending the day at the Griffith Observatory, hiking the grounds early in the day, looking at all the exhibits inside the building, and watching the sunset from Observatory Crest. He wondered if I might find it boring and I said definitely not. I love museums and halls of science. And viewing the sunset from the building or the lawn surrounding it sounded like a marvelous experience. So, we agreed to meet up on Wednesday morning.

My stomach was fluttering but it wasn’t the last rumblings of my stomachache from Sunday. The smile on my face and the seemingly vacant stare in my eyes made Lori stop on her way to the kitchen.

“You look like you’re having a religious experience, Joey. What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing, Blaise wants to take me to the Griffith Observatory on Wednesday.”

“That sounds nice. By the way, tomorrow we’re going to the Ford dealership on Ventura to buy me a new car. It’s on your dad, of course. I finally convinced him that I need something from this century instead of the bucket of metal I currently have to drive. He’s coming back from Santa Barbara in September, and he’ll want his Land Cruiser back.”

“The way he talks, he could afford a garage full of cars. Why doesn’t he just give you the Land Cruiser, and he can get a new one instead.”

“Makes too much sense, Joey.”

The letter was on top of the pile of mail that had just been delivered. It was from Rafe Matheny. At first, I wanted to rip it apart. I was so mad at him. I had refused to take his phone calls for the last week. The second Lori would utter his name; I shook my head violently and wanted to scream. The nerve of the guy! Who was he to lecture me on normality. The same boy who used to tell me I was beautiful. Until his mother, that witch, forbad him to see me. Ordered him to avoid me in school. Made sure we weren’t in the same classes. Was it because my dad tried to run over her husband with his car? Or was she afraid of her son falling in love with me. Another boy. But that’s the rub. I’m not another boy. I’m deep down a girl.

I opened the letter notwithstanding. There was a cassette tape enclosed. Another one of his mixtapes. He never quite understood that our musical tastes were so different. He preferred listening to prog rock and fusion jazz. I like pop music. I guess I’m not very deep.

Joey,

Since you won’t take my phone calls, I’m trying our old standby, sending you a letter. Remember when I’d go to summer camp back in middle school days? We exchanged letters at least twice a week. It seems like such a long time ago.

First of all, let me say I’m sorry I stepped way out of bounds about the pictures you sent me. I forgot to tell you how beautiful you looked in that dress and the way you did your hair. But you know I’ve always thought you were beautiful. I guess I panicked because I was afraid my mother would stumble on the photos. It would start her off on another tirade about you and your family. And I didn’t want to hear it. Ever.

I didn’t want her to have a clue about us meeting secretly when my dad comes to LA to hold some business meetings. She’ll never know if I slip away and spend some time with you. Maybe we can go to Six Flags Magic Mountain and try that new ride they’ve installed, Freefall. Don’t worry, I’ll hold your hand. You can keep your eyes shut like you did when we rode all the rides at the Six Flags in New Jersey. Remember?

Dad tells me they’re finalizing the dates of his meetings. Could be the first week in August. So, not so far off. I can’t wait to see you. And you can dress any way you want. If anyone objects, I’ll punch them in the mouth. I mean it.

Please take my phone calls, Joey. Don’t be mad. I’m sorry a thousand times over! Listen to the cassette I’ve enclosed. I carefully chose songs you’d like. None of my prog rock stuff. OK?

Love,
Rafe

I was listening to Rafe’s mixtape when Lori asked if I wanted to have lunch at In-and-Out Burger off Van Nuys Blvd. or Denny’s on Roscoe.

“Denny’s,” I answered.

Lori handed my purse to me. “Good, let’s go. It’s just across the street from the Ford dealership. We’re going car shopping!”

A friendly-looking man in his fifties, wearing a blue blazer with a name tag above his chest pocket that announced him as “Bernie” walked toward us. He was whistling. Before Lori could open her mouth, he started what sounded like a well-rehearsed spiel that he gave to all prospective customers, making small changes depending on the age and gender of the pigeon.

"Well, hello there, young ladies! Welcome to Ford Country. What brings a pair of beautiful girls like you two out to the lot on a fine day like today? Are you looking for a sharp little runabout for yourself, or are we waiting on the hubby to come help you pick out the new family cruiser? No? Well, good for you! A modern, independent gal.

Let me guess what you're looking for—you want something reliable that won't leave you stranded, and it’s got to look good, right? Come over here and take a look at this brand-new 1982 Ford Escort. It is America’s best-selling car for a reason! It’s got a wonderful little four-cylinder engine that is incredibly easy on gasoline—perfect for keeping a budget—and it comes in this gorgeous Medium Glow Blue that would look fantastic on you.

Or, if you need a bit more room for shopping bags or a future car seat, we just got this lovely Ford Fairmont wagon on the lot. Don't you worry your pretty head about any of the mechanical stuff under the hood; our boys in the service bay keep these machines running like a top. You just sit right here in the driver's seat and tell me if those vinyl bucket seats aren't the comfiest things you've ever felt.

Let’s take her for a spin around the block, and if you fall in love with the color, we can head inside, get you a cup of coffee, and write up some numbers that will make your husband proud!"

I thought I heard him take a deep breath before flashing us another toothy smile.

“That’s all very informative…uh…Bernie, but I’ve done some research of my own and I really think I’d like to try out an Escort. Like that beige one over there,” Lori indicated.

“Lori! Beige?” I protested. “Why not something hot like that pink one?”

“Ah, yes, our Sunrise Red custom color. It’s very popular with our younger clientele. The little lady is very discriminating. Are you sisters?”

“Joey’s my stepdaughter. She just graduated from high school.”

“So, shall we try the Sunrise Red Escort?”

“No, I’m pretty set on the beige. I’d like to give it a spin around the block,” Lori stated.

“Alright, young lady. I’ll need your license and proof of auto insurance. Just wait while I photocopy it and I’ll return with the keys.”

He walked away toward the office, leaving us to admire the beige Escort while we awaited his return. The minutes crawled along as the early afternoon sun beat down on us in the open lot. A figure in a work uniform spotted with grease splatter walking by us, stopped abruptly and turned toward us.

“Joey! Funny seeing you here.”

It was Cortez the Killer, the bass player in Western Sons, the band Blaise and I saw at Grimaldi’s on the Strip.

“Cortez? I’d say the same about you,” I blurted.

“I work here. My dad’s the manager. Sorry about the way I look. It’s a dirty job but somebody’s got to do it,” he laughed. “By the way, my given name is Mateo.”