Class of '59 (American Journey Book 4)

by John A. Heldt

"You know John F. Kennedy?"

  Carter nodded.

  "I've known him for years. Our families are close."

  Mary Beth smiled.

  "I'm impressed."

  "You shouldn't be," Carter said. "He's just a senator."

  Mary Beth grinned.

  "I think he's more than that. He's a man with serious potential."

  Carter laughed.

  "You ought to sit down with my father. He is convinced that Kennedy is going to run for president next year."

  "You don't think he will?" Mary Beth asked.

  Carter shook his head.

  "He'll wait until sixty-four or sixty-eight. I'm sure of it."

  Mary Beth glanced at Mark and saw a subtle smile form on his face. She did not know how much he had read or heard about John F. Kennedy, but she suspected that he had read or heard enough to know that the senator would not sit out the 1960 election.

  "I guess we'll see," Mary Beth said.

  Carter smiled.

  "I guess we will."

  Mary Beth nodded and sighed as Carter, Anita, and the others started private conversations. As much as she wanted to tell them about things to come, she knew she could not. She had an obligation to keep her knowledge to herself and let history play out. She pondered the coming year and the coming decade until her date brought her back to the here and now.

  "Are you thinking about something interesting?" Mark asked.

  Mary Beth smiled.

  "Aren't I always?"

  "I don't know. I'm not privy to your thoughts."

  Mary Beth laughed.

  "I guess you're not."

  Mark smiled.

  "Perhaps we can change that."

  "Perhaps we can."

  "Are you having a good time?"

  "I'm having a great time," Mary Beth said. She paused for a moment as two waiters brought salads and breadsticks to the table. "Thanks for inviting me. I don't think I've ever been to a nicer dinner. In fact, I know I haven't."

  Mark chuckled.

  "You're saying that to make me feel good."

  "I'm saying it because it's true," Mary Beth said. "I went to a few nice dinners in high school and college but never one in a five-star hotel swarming with celebrities."

  "That surprises me," Mark said.

  "It shouldn't. I'm pretty down-to-earth. Piper is the one who likes glitz."

  "What's she doing tonight?"

  "You mean you don't know?" Mary Beth asked.

  "No."

  "She's out with Ben."

  "She's with Ben?" Mark asked.

  Mary Beth nodded.

  "She promised to buy him a dinner if he won his tennis match yesterday."

  "That's funny," Mark said. "He didn't say a thing to me."

  "Don't feel bad. The only reason I know is because Piper asked for money."

  "I thought you gave her money the other day."

  "I did," Mary Beth said. "She spent it all on clothes and charities."

  "Charities?"

  "She's still donating generously to Chip and Bunny."

  Mark laughed.

  "I think someone doesn't want someone to go to the prom with Vicki Cole."

  "It appears so," Mary Beth said.

  "Are Ben and Piper getting along now?"

  "I think so. She doesn't tell me much."

  "He's pretty secretive too," Mark said.

  Mary Beth gazed at her date.

  "Are you?"

  "Am I what?" Mark asked.

  "Are you secretive?"

  "I not sure what you're getting at."

  "Then let me be clear," Mary Beth said. "Have you told your mom about me?"

  Mark nodded.

  "In fact, I've done more than that."

  "Is that so?" Mary Beth asked.

  "That's so."

  "Please elaborate."

  Mark beamed.

  "I told her that Ben and I picked up some girls on Hollywood Boulevard."

  "You didn't," Mary Beth said.

  Mark laughed.

  "I did."

  "Mark Ryan!"

  "Don't worry. Mom is pretty open-minded about these things. Just wear a nice dress and bring an appetite Sunday afternoon," Mark said. He smiled. "Dinner is at two."

  CHAPTER 28: PIPER

  South Pasadena, California – Saturday, April 4, 1959

  Piper sucked on the plastic straw three times, smiled seductively at the young man sharing her chocolate milkshake, and raised a brow. For five minutes, she had attempted to get him to laugh and smile. For five minutes, she had succeeded. He, in turn, had done the same.

  "Do you like making me laugh?" Ben asked.

  Piper smiled.

  "I like making you blush."

  Sally Warner shook her head.

  "You two are beginning to worry me."

  Wayne Bridges laughed.

  "Are they always like this?"

  "No," Sally said. "They didn't even like each other until Thursday."

  Piper giggled.

  "That's not true. I liked him. I just didn't know what to do with him," Piper said. She gazed at Ben and smiled. "I still don't."

  Sally stared at Piper.

  "Your milkshake begs to differ."

  Piper, Ben, and Wayne laughed loudly. They had laughed several times since crowding into a padded booth at Patty's Drive-In, a teen hotspot on the west side of town.

  Piper lifted her nose.

  "I'm just getting to know him better."

  "That's great," Sally said. "Can you do it without a prop?"

  Piper laughed and looked at Ben.

  "I think it's time we behaved ourselves."

  Ben chuckled.

  "I guess."

  Sally smiled at Piper and Ben and then settled into her seat at the closed end of the booth. She sipped a strawberry shake she shared with Wayne, grabbed a French fry from a basket in the middle of the table, and then looked thoughtfully at her boyfriend of two years.

  "I'd like some music, Wayne."

  Piper giggled as she watched Wayne reach into his pocket, pull out a quarter, and hand the coin to Sally. She had no doubt who wore the pants in this relationship.

  "I should try that," Piper said.

  Sally beamed.

  "You should. Boys are easily trained."

  Sally winked at Ben and then turned to the tabletop jukebox that stood between a stainless steel napkin dispenser and two condiment bottles. She popped the quarter into a slot and pushed a series of buttons. Within seconds, the first song, "Blueberry Hill" by Fats Domino, streamed out of the musical toaster.

  "I like this song," Piper said. "It reminds me of dinner last night."

  "Oh?" Sally asked.

  Piper nodded.

  "I ordered blueberry pie for dessert."

  Ben laughed.

  "Did you two have a good time?" Sally asked.

  "We did. I did anyway," Piper said. She looked at Ben. "It was nice."

  Sally looked at Wayne.

  "Piper took Ben to dinner last night. She rewarded him for winning his singles match on Thursday even though he took six extra serves to do it."

  Piper grinned.

  "I believe in rewarding effort."

  Sally stared at Piper.

  "You believe in sticking it to Vicki Cole."

  Piper laughed.

  "OK. There's that too."

  "Where did you go?" Sally asked.

  "We went to the El Camino in Alhambra," Piper said. "Mr. Ryan insisted on steak."

  Wayne looked at his date.

  "Something is wrong here. I've won almost as many matches as Ben. I even beat a guy he lost to last year. How come you never take me to dinner?"

  Sally smiled and batted her lashes.

  "I don't take you, sweetie, because I don't have any money."

  Piper giggled.

  "She's got you there, Wayne."

  Wayne huffed.

  "It doesn't seem right."

  Ben put his arm around Wayne and
slapped his shoulder. He grinned as Elvis Presley's "Don't Be Cruel" took its turn on the jukebox.

  "You just have to find yourself a rich girl, buddy. It shouldn't be too hard," Ben said. He smiled at Piper. "Rich girls are as common in California as southern belles and fräuleins."

  Sally looked at Ben and then at Piper.

  "How do you put up with him?"

  "I exercise patience," Piper said. "I view Ben like I view the weather in Alabama. If I don't like what I see, I just wait a few minutes for him to improve. He usually does."

  "I take it he was better last night," Sally said.

  Piper nodded.

  "He was a lot better. He was a nice guy – too nice, in fact."

  Ben pulled his arm from around Wayne's shoulders.

  "What's that supposed to mean?"

  Piper looked across the table.

  "It means I've seen only a few sides of you. I keep hearing about this wild man who regularly sets the world on fire, but so far all I've seen is a cocky boy who backs up his mouth maybe thirty percent of the time."

  Sally smiled.

  "Those are fighting words."

  Ben stared at Piper.

  "I thought you liked me."

  "I do like you," Piper said. "I think you're cute, smart, and even funny."

  "That's better," Ben said.

  Piper met his gaze.

  "I also think you're overrated. I don't think you're wild at all. When you get right down to it, Ben Ryan, you're kind of boring."

  Wayne and Sally grinned.

  "You think I'm boring?" Ben asked.

  Piper reached across the table and touched Ben's arm.

  "Yes. I do."

  Ben turned to his best friend.

  "Did you hear that, Wayne? Piper thinks I'm boring. Am I boring?"

  Wayne shook his head.

  "You're obnoxious, but you're not boring."

  Ben nodded.

  "What do you think, Sally?"

  Sally stared at Ben.

  "I think you should drop it. Piper obviously misspoke."

  Piper snorted.

  "No, I didn't. I meant every word. Ben is boring."

  Ben grinned at Wayne.

  "I think someone needs a demonstration."

  Sally turned to her left.

  "Say you're sorry, Piper."

  "I'm not saying sorry to anyone," Piper said.

  Ben looked at Wayne.

  "You pick the spot."

  "Let's go to the lot," Wayne said.

  "The lot it is," Ben said. "The last one there pays for the movie."

  "Where is there?" Piper asked.

  Ben jumped out of his seat. He took Piper's hand.

  "Let's go."

  "Ben, what's 'the lot'?"

  Ben pulled Piper out of the booth.

  "It's a magical place."

  Wayne and Sally quickly joined them in the aisle.

  "Sally, what's going on?" Piper asked.

  Sally smiled sheepishly.

  "Remember when we talked about breaking rules?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, we're about to break some."

  "Are you ready?" Ben asked Wayne.

  Wayne grinned.

  "Let's go."

  Ben tightened his hold on Piper's hand and led her toward the exit. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at the others when he reached the door.

  "See you at the Rose Bowl."

  "The what?" Piper asked.

  She didn't have a chance to say another word. Before she could say, "Ben is boring," not-so-boring Ben led her to the parking lot and his shiny Thunderbird.

  "Get in and buckle up!" Ben said.

  Piper did as requested. She opened the passenger door of the T-Bird, plopped onto the leather bucket seat, and fastened her seat belt. For the first time since walking through the time tunnel of the Painted Lady, she regretted opening her mouth.

  Ben jumped into the driver's seat of the uncovered convertible, started the ignition, and backed out of his parking space like a robber leaving a bank. He sped through the lot, turned onto Monterey Street, and raced west a few blocks to an intersection and a red light.

  He waited only for one car to pass. When Wayne and Sally, who had taken a different route, blew through the intersection from the south in a black 1957 Chevrolet, Ben turned north onto Arroyo Boulevard, stomped on the gas, and began a hot pursuit.

  Piper's eyes grew wide.

  "Ben?"

  "Yeah?"

  "I don't think this is a good idea."

  Ben laughed.

  "You're right. It's not. Hold on!"

  Piper looked around.

  "Hold on to what?"

  Ben smiled but did not reply. He instead leaned toward the radio, punched a button on the dash, and settled into his seat as the T-Bird hit fifty miles per hour. Seconds later, "Whole Lotta Shakin' Goin' On" by Jerry Lee Lewis streamed through the speakers.

  "Ben?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Pasadena has a speed limit."

  "I know," Ben said. He grinned. "Yee-haw!"

  With that declaration of reckless enthusiasm, Ben Ryan, tennis player, time traveler, and sometime companion of Piper McIntire, stepped up his game. He pressed on the accelerator and continued a mad dash that stretched from South Pasadena to the mother of all stadiums.

  Ben needed only a minute to catch up to Wayne. He pulled behind the Chevy as the cars reached a bend in the road and passed it when they entered a straight stretch.

  Piper watched in horror as two fuzzy dice, which hung from the rear-view mirror, began to bounce like ping-pong balls in a lottery machine. She gulped when she saw oncoming lights.

  "We're in the wrong lane, Ben."

  "I know. Isn't it great?"

  "No. It's not!"

  Ben moved into the right lane when a small truck approached. He returned to the left lane, passed a car in the dwindling light, and smiled at his passenger.

  "Are we having fun?"

  "No!" Piper said. "You've made your point. Now slow down!"

  Ben did not slow down. He sped up to pass another car and then sped up again after Wayne caught him on a stretch, blew past him at seventy miles per hour, and began to pull away.

  "I'm not kidding, Ben. This thing doesn't have airbags!"

  Piper put her hands on the glove box door, pushed back, and dreamed of outcomes that didn't involve broken bones, severed limbs, or body bags. She vowed never again to feed the brain of a boy whose ego was apparently as fragile as an eggshell.

  Ben caught up to Wayne a second time as the cars finally emerged from the hilly Arroyo Seco district and entered an open stretch that led directly to the Rose Bowl. He passed Wayne as the two zipped through a busy intersection and then raced toward the legendary stadium.

  "Stop, Ben!" Piper shrieked. "Stop this thing now!"

  Ben grinned but did not respond. He instead turned into a spacious parking lot, raced toward a spot in the middle, and finally spun, squealed, and slid to an unsettling stop.

  "I hate you!" Piper said. "I really, really hate you."

  Ben unfastened his seat belt and turned toward Piper. He smiled as Wayne and Sally honked and came to a sliding halt about fifty feet way.

  "I know you hate me," Ben said in a mellow voice. "But do you think I'm boring?"

  Piper stared at him defiantly.

  "Yes!"

  Ben softened his gaze.

  "Piper?"

  "What?"

  Ben cocked his head.

  "Do you think I'm boring?"

  Piper pouted.

  "Maybe."

  Ben smiled softly.

  "Piper?"

  "What now?"

  "Do you—?"

  "Oh, shut up and kiss me."

  CHAPTER 29: DONNA

  Los Angeles, California – Sunday, April 5, 1959

  Thirty minutes into the most interesting dinner of her life, Donna Ryan concluded two things. The first was that Mary Beth and Piper McIntire possessed more secr
ets than a CIA agent. The second was that Mark and Ben did too.

  Donna helped herself to more ham and potatoes, sipped some water, and then resumed what she had done for most of the meal. She quietly observed the two delightful young women who sat to her left at the long rectangular table. Each wore a white floral dress, a ponytail, and a captivating smile. Both were slim, pretty, and as southern as fried okra.

  Donna studied Mary Beth as she ate her dinner and exchanged playful glances with Mark. She liked this girl. She liked her a lot. Whether she trusted her was another matter.

  "Mark tells me you want to be a doctor," Donna said. "Is that true?"

  Mary Beth nodded.

  "I've applied for admission to several medical schools and hope to hear from at least one by the end of the month. I want to be a trauma surgeon someday."

  "Your parents must be proud," Donna said.

  "They are."

  Donna turned to Piper.

  "How about you, young lady? Do you have grand plans as well?"

  Piper nodded.

  "I do. I hope to pass algebra."

  Ben laughed.

  "I told you she was funny, Mom."

  Donna smiled.

  "Yes, you did."

  Piper looked at her hostess.

  "I didn't mean to sound flippant, Mrs. Ryan. I'm just not as focused as my sister. Assuming I pass my math test on Thursday and graduate from Midway, I intend to study art history and dance at one of the state universities. I'm looking hard at UCLA right now."

  "That's wonderful," Donna said. "I wish you the best."

  "Thank you," Piper said.

  Donna smiled as she processed the girls' comments and the story they had peddled shortly after arriving at twenty past one. She had no difficulty believing that two bright women had set their sights on college and careers. She had great difficulty believing they had come to California from West Germany and had stumbled into Mark and Ben outside a Pasadena movie theater on March 21. She suspected the truth was far more complicated.

  She also suspected that Mary Beth and Piper had visited at least once before. Each knew where to find the bathroom. Both wandered through the Painted Lady like it was a second home. And Mary Beth spoke like a woman who had conversed with Mark in the wee hours of April 1.

  Donna frowned as she recalled the morning she had risen early, walked down the stairs, and stopped when she had heard footsteps and whispers. She had listened long enough to hear two male voices she knew well and one female voice she did not.

  Donna suspected the obvious when she walked through the mansion later that morning and found a freshly made bed in one of the guest rooms. She was certain that at least one of her sons had engaged in premarital activities in a bedroom only fifteen feet from her own.