BECOMING THE ROSE

For: Every heart...

...that is Desire...

...and becomes The Rose.

_________________________________

BECOMING THE ROSE

by

Douglas L. Simmons

All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions

Published Internationally in electronic format by

Global Publishing Bureau Limited, Scotland.

First Global Publishing Bureau Electronic Edition:

January 5, 2000

Copyright © 1997 by Douglas L. Simmons

Library of Congress Number:

TXu 831-019

All song lyrics included in this work are original compositions written by the author of the work, and are copyrighted by the Author.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Thanks to all the people who read this and gave me helpful comments along the way...especially, Russ Landis, who took the time to edit my work and suggest improvements.

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NOVEL FICTIONS

READ BECOMING THE ROSE WITH YOUR KINDLE BOOK READER

________________

Becoming the Rose

by

Douglas L. Simmons

*

Prolog:

A lash of hot and humid days descended upon the town of Columbus, Indiana. Overhead, the cloudless sky denied relief. Rivaling the blazing heat from the sun above, the shimmering sidewalks, radiated like broilers underfoot.

Seeming more like death walks than avenues of escape.

People forced to be outside endured the scorching misery, and struggled valiantly along. The promise that some temporary comfort would be found in the next air conditioned oasis they would enter, providing enough strength to go on.

The week before this brutal blast of summer arrived, a traveling carnival had occupied the now, almost, empty parade field across the street from the courthouse. The weather remained spring like that week, and the cool evening breezes were filled with sublime sounds of laughter. Laughter emanating from the children dodging and darting about in unbridled glee; their forms packing the narrow spaces between the glittering attractions. The bellowing mirth of the adults overriding all. Resembling nothing so much as larger versions of their own offspring, as they too tramped the paths among the rides and booths.

All were bedazzled by the unfamiliar, but still welcome, glow of the colored and flashing lights. Lights, that in addition to adorning the rides, had been strung in haphazard rows and left swinging precariously back and forth, Dangling just above the heads of the crowd. The multitude of combined optical movements emitting a radiation that melded with the calliope sounds of mechanical music, and the rhythmic rushing exhalations of spontaneous breath emanating from the ride machinery; together conspiring to hypnotize these rural masses into a free spending herd of semi-orderly human cattle. Their emotional frenzy barely held in check by the enchantment of carnival, on the verge of a mad stampede, as they rushed about seeking their fill of the inane thrills to be had at this once a year event.

Although involving a few busted heads, and surprising some novice drinkers with the next day blues or the same night sickness, it was a harmless time for most. Aside from leaving the majority of the towns people with depleted wallets.

A sad state of affairs, for which later explanations would be made to wives and husbands. Excuses found then given to given to bankers and store managers; detailing reasons why credit should be extended until financial recovery was made.

Some new romances were joyously sparked; a few old loves were sadly lost. But, for most, nothing more occurred than an exciting break in the rhythm and monotony of their lives. Excitement they would relive in fond memory during the slow hot summer days to come. Recalling the good times had in the darkness shrouded glare of the sawdust filled, tent strewn confusion of the temporarily transformed parade ground. Where, assisted by a touch of self delusion, the illusion for a time had convinced them that the world was a grander place than they were wont to believe, while spending lives sheltered within their closed circle of family and friends. Lives whose greatest adventures usually consisted of broken tractors, and sick cows. Perhaps a house fire; should fate choose to be unduly capricious.

Taking with it the balmy breezes, the fleeting glory of carnival which had sprung up overnight, as if by magic, just as mysteriously vanished down the road. Leaving behind a wake of refuse, by which to mark its riotous passing.

Now, instead of night lit capering forms, the field was populated by the day glow, sweating bodies of the towns maintenance crew. Melting under the merciless noonday sun. Gathering up the plastic bags, and paper trash. The used ticket stubs, and empty beer bottles. The remnants of a quickly fading dream. Collecting the debris, and loading it into the trucks that would transport all to the county dump south of town; where it could be stored with nature.

Not allowed to intrude, beyond its allotted time, upon the facade of order presented to the eyes of passersby. Adjoined to the resting place of other such clutter. Safely out of sight of the neatly manicured streets. Once again regaining the appearance of unchanging solidity that is the trademark of such places.

To the unknowing eye, it might well have that the carnival had neglected to pack up one of its star attractions. To look at from outside the lone tent, standing on the single patch of un-molested at the far side of the field, was little different from those structures and should surely belong in some circus or other. Although the music escaping from within the confines of the tent was not the blare of carnival.

Anyone passing near enough to the canvas shelter could immediately discern the strains of gospel music emanating from the old pump organ inside. As, serving long beyond its intended run, the mechanism faithfully bellowed forth. Still in tune. The years, spent bouncing about in the backs of uncounted U-Haul trucks, having been unable to steal the instruments melodious voice.

With nary a sign of the weather letting up, the tent supplied a cool relief from the blazing torture of the summer sun. Combined with the pitchers of cold lemonade and iced tea, provided free of charge to any who chose to enter and sit for a while, there was sufficient inducement for people to remain a bit longer; once the music had drawn them in.

The Reverend called it his "Big-Top"; claiming:

"The name is good enough for a circus tent filled with foul smelling animals; it is certainly appropriate for a congregation of the Lords blessed children. Come inside to hear a messenger of the Word. This is after all, none, the biggest show on earth!"

For the purpose of portability, this canvas shelter was much like any other of the same capacity. The tent could be taken down, transported elsewhere, and reassembled with a similar ease. Unless you went inside, you would never know: Within those billowing walls could be witnessed a show quite unlike any other.

At the main entrance to the tent, held in place by a ridged frame of tubular steel poles, swung a pair of ornate doors; in outward aspect much like those which might adorn the entrance of any stationary church. Lending the appearance of solidity, and a reassuring permanence, although the doors were actually of hollow core construction; light enough to easily move from town to town.

Unless it was raining, the entrance remained open at all times. Just inside the vestibule, sitting off to one side on a platform of its own, was the only collection box to be found within the realm of the Reverends ministry. "GOD WILL PROVIDE," had been carefully hand painted, in gold letters, on the front of the box. That being the extent of his asking for donations, other than preaching on the evils of greed, the Reverend never used money as the topic for a sermon.

Those entering the chapel were, however, encouraged to leave their belongings with the smiling attendant, waiting there to greet them. She would tag the items, store them in the large closet standing just behind her, and hand back the numbered stub. Along with the assurance that all would be safely returned upon leaving. This process kept the items securely out of mind, allowing visitors to give their full attention to the content of the service within. There was even a rug (in a tent of all things) placed just inside the door, where entrants could wipe their feet, and brush of f the dirt of the outer world.

On beyond the vestibule was the main chapel.

The Reverend could not abide folding chairs; the chapel was furnished with lightweight, collapsible wooden pews, providing seating for several hundred people. A center aisle between them lead the way to the pulpit.

At the farthest expanse stood the baptismal. Mounted on a platform of its own, this fixture was elevated slightly above where the quire members and deacons, who shared the stage with the Reverend, were seated.

Everything within, rested on the durable carpet covering the floor throughout the entire main room.

Suspended from a cable stretched beneath the apex of the tents roof, a row of incandescent globes shed a soft pearly illumination upon the congregation. While blue and violet spotlights bathed those seated about the stage in a heliotropic glow, lending more a sense of self illumination to their garments than one of reflectance.

Above the pews, square panels had been cut out of the tents side walls, and multicolored translucent plastic panels sewn in their place. Which, lighted by the sun, gave all the appearance of the genuine stained glass windows which adorn many large churches. At night portable lights were shown on the outside of these fixtures to imitate the light of day.

When a storm destroyed the Reverends original tent, never having been one to despair, he calmly accepted it as a sign from "On High" that he had not been doing his best to spread the News. Intent on creating a traveling temple worthy of his ministries, he designed the new tent

himself, and had it sewn by the same company which constructed most of those used by the various traveling shows he made a practice of following about the land.

The Reverend knew that after such an evil inducement had rested for a time within the limits of small town America there would be many sins to confess, and much guilt to expunge. He would find no better time to reach empty hearts with words of love.

Seeking a maximum return for his efforts, he carefully plotted the course of each yearly revival; making sure his ministry always arrived on the scene exactly when the need was greatest. That need being: to get back into the good graces, so recently fallen from.

As the voices of the singers lifted their final note of hymn, releasing it into the turbid atmosphere beneath the canvas, the Right Reverend Barrow jumped fully three feet straight up in the air before the astounded eyes of his congregation. While airborne he spun 180 degrees about and came down facing the all girl quire. The total, comprised of two groups, arrayed slightly behind and to either side of the lectern mounted on the portable stage; well in view of the congregation.

The young women were dressed in majestic splendor. All wearing flowing white robes, that appeared to glow from within, as they stood in the spotlights. Shining with a seeming translucence, and clinging at times to their forms in such a way as to almost convince the eyes of the younger men--and many of the older eyes as well--in the crowd that they were able to discern the heavenly bodies hidden beneath those shapely garments.

When he landed, the impact of the Reverends muscular form shook the plywood flooring of the stage with sufficient force to jounce the organ players hands against the keys; sending a last discordant squawk of sound out over the heads of the congregation.

Bringing his arms around in a sweeping gesture, hands opened, palms facing out, the Reverend slowly semaphored for the group of women to take their seats. Before turning to once more face the assemblage he winked at the young quire member standing nearest to him. Not, as the girl might have thought, because he was flirting with her. Knowing that all of the members would see, he did it to bring rosy red blushes to of their faces. Lighting their features with a bright cherubic radiance; a match for that already coming from the robes they wore. Heightening the impression of the heavenly grandeur manifest within the room.

The reverend had often been criticized, and at times, outright rebuked for his methods. No one had ever been able to fault his results. As a rule: Where the revival had been in town, it left the churches there richer in membership, than they had been before its passing.

He knew that there were far more charlatans preying upon people, than good ministers attempting to show the way to salvation. Men whose primary concern was filling their collection baskets with the funds the ushers stayed busy siphoning from the congregation, as they continuously passed among the rows of victims they had drawn inside. People whose only faults, for the most part, were despair with their condition; and desire for change. Although the Reverends revivals had been compared to those thinly disguised religious side shows, he paid little attention to his detractors.

It was human nature to be drawn into the gaiety of light and music. He would not deny their souls for the sake of decorum. Let the devil fool the sinners; the Reverend was nobody's fool. The bars and dance halls, the circuses and amusement houses, used these methods: because they worked. The important thing was not how you got the people to come in; it was what you gave them after they were inside.

As he faced the congregation he brought his hands together in front of his robe. Clothing made from the same material as the spectacular, radiant white gowns worn by the quire, but which had been dyed a softer hue. Closely matching the luminosity of the overhead lobes. A light pearl gray color, interwoven with violet blue threads, which--despite the others on the stage being more brightly attired than he--caused the Reverend to stand out in a singular celestial aura. Especially when the co2 bottles hidden below the podium released a soft cloud of fog into the room; causing him to appear as if he were walking slightly elevated above the ground, as he motivated back and forth before his willing audience.

Most startling of all was the affect of that light upon his eyes. His tall form towering above the heads of those he sought to convert, the Reverend already gazed out at the world through orbs the color of a clear summer sky. Bathed in the radiance of the spots, their color changed from that clean azure to an intense ultramarine. Reflecting that light, his look blazed forth, and bored into the psyche of anyone falling under his stare. Piercing them with conviction: Here was a man who had seen!

The Reverend lifted his arm, about to launch into his sermon of the day. Before he could speak, a brown-haired teenage boy, perhaps eighteen years of age, ran in through the entrance, sprinted down the aisle and slid to a precipitate halt just in front of the stage.

"They're after me!" he said. Attempting to catch his breath, as he pointed back toward the entrance.

Allowing none of the sadness he felt inside to show in the expression on his handsome face, as he wondered what sort of trouble the child had gotten himself into this time, the Reverend looked down at the disheveled, younger replica of himself, standing there in public disarray.

The motion of his arm continued, but instead of pointing above the heads of the congregation as he had intended, the Reverend stopped the gesture midway, and pointed at the boy.

Ignoring the pages of the sermon he had prepared and laid on the dais standing in front of him, he closed those piercing eyes for a second before looking to his congregation and giving explanation.

With a smile: "My son."

Still pointing, he despaired of ever saving this one he loved the most, and began a different sermon.

"Behold the beast!

"He is such a magnificent creature.

"In all his wildness, he flows across the landscape like a raging river. A torrent which devours everything in its path. Covers the land with a flood of madness. Clutches all it has subdued, and takes it helplessly along on its violent quest to find, and become one with the sea.

"That same river, when not in flood, is a calm and soothing rhythm of nature.

"Hidden beneath that sublime tranquility, the river carries the burden of its rages.

"Do not forget.

"Beauty is a beast.. ."

____________________________________

ONE

In addition to being still half intoxicated from the night before, Billy had just awakened to start the day with a few drags on the roach he had unearthed from the secret depths of his shirt pocket. His world view wasn't exactly stable. As he watched Jack, his sometimes friend and the long time manager of his singing career, who--dressed in an out of date tuxedo and waving his arms while cavorting back and forth across the thick covering of white carpeting spread throughout the room--looked to Billy like an enraged penguin that has gone mad. One who, hopelessly flapping his stubby wings, having forgotten that his species gave up the ability to fly a million years ago was still--lost in his insanity--attempting to lift his overweight body from the ground.

You can't just keep on going around this country taking advantage of underage young girls Billy!" his Manager yelled. The reflected glare of light on his bald head flashing like a beacon as he careened around the room, highlighting his erratic movements each time he passed beneath one of the spotlights shining down from their hidden locations in the ceiling of the luxury hotel suite.

"Come on Jack! It don't take all that!" Billy Tomorrow replied from his position on the bed next to the wall, opposite the large picture window, which looked out over the business district of downtown Omaha, Nebraska. "It was only a couple of girls in the last year. Besides, they molested me; not the other way around."

Laughing, as he attempted to change the subject, Billy brushed his long brown hair away from his forehead, exposing his startling china blue eyes. "Why don't you sit down somewhere? You look silly as hell with your fat little butt charging around the room like that. You're making me dizzy."

"It"s not me that makes you dizzy Billy; it's that garbage you keep smoking!"

Billy turned to the side, located the ashtray on the night stand next to the bed and snuffed out the remains of the smoke. Shifting his lean muscular body, he pushed the bed covers into a jumbled pile against the headboard, and rose from his position on the bed. He swayed for a moment, until his heart pumped some blood back into his head, then stood there dressed only in the silk boxer shorts he had slept in. Mindless of the painting on the wall behind him, whose price at last auction would have strained even his bank account, unable as yet to stand unassisted he leaned against the wall, nonetheless, still towering over his manager.

At the sight of the singer standing before him, Jack Brenner slid to a stop in the middle of the room. Facing Billy, he peered up through his own dark bushy eyebrows, and then looked down at himself. He stood there in contemplation for a moment, as if he had never noticed his absence of height or the fact that he was overweight; until this moment, when Billy had pointed it out to him. Shrugging his shoulders in acceptance, he continued haranguing the errant rock star.

"Billy! Billy! You're being sued by eleven young women; three of them under age. That is not a couple of girls!" Jack said. Once again beginning to pace, exasperated with the situation.

"All right! So I had a bad year!" Billy retorted. "It's all a load bull anyway. They'll give up after a while and go away."

Jack stood for a moment silently appraising his verbal opponent who, at thirty-four, was sixteen years his junior. Tall, broad shouldered, and handsome. With a head full of wavy brown hair, which drove the females in his audience wild with adoration, and evinced jealousy in the males. Who bought his CD's, regardless. Then he ran his hand across the top of his head. A place where hair used to be.

Once again waving his arms, Jack continued chastising the other man. "Bad year my ex-mother-in-law! I'm telling you for the last time, Billy! I'm not going to put up with your insanity much longer. It's costing too much money, and sooner or later it's going to end you up in jail. Or dead."

Billy bent down to retrieve his jeans from where he had left them in the floor the night before and, as he straightened up, tilted backwards and fell over. Landing on the bed, turning as he did, and rolling across to the other side, he came up feet first onto the plush carpeted floor. Ignoring Jack's continued protests, he padded over to where his guitar case was lying next to the dresser, dropped the pants next to it and sat down in the floor. He opened the case and extracted the notepad he always kept in it. Pausing first to dig through the pockets of his discarded pants until he found a pack of cigarettes and some matches, he lit a cigarette, and began writing. Humming to himself, and flipping the ashes carelessly onto the carpet, as he smoked. Looking up, only long enough to say:

"That's why I keep you around Jack. You're an inspiration to me. Did you know that?"

"Did I know what, Billy?" Jack ask, from across the room. Where he had gone to sulk.

"That you inspire me?"

"No I didn't...I mean...yes, you've told me that before, I-- Billy what the hell are you talking about?" Jack demanded. His frustration complete. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation with you. Can't you--just this once--pay a little attention?"

"This is serious Jack," Billy replied. This time not even bothering to look up. "And I always pay attention to you. I just don't always do what you tell me to."

Billy leaned over and took his guitar from the case. Pulling the leather strap over his head, and sliding his arm through, he hung the guitar from his shoulder. Strumming the instrument he began to tune it by ear, while at the same time continuing his conversation with his manager.

"Listen to this Jack. I think you'll like it." He smiled hopefully at his friend and continued. "Maybe I'll build my next album around this theme. Something for all the mistreated women in the world." He laughed merrily, and added, "That'll make you plenty of money; hey?"

"That's all!" Jack said, as he flung his arms outward, palms extended upward, while he directed his gaze toward the ceiling as if beseeching help from on high, and headed for the door. "As far as I'm concerned you can sit here and rot you ungrateful little snot. I'm not taking care of your messes for you anymore!"

Billy, realizing he had pushed just a little too far, jumped up and ran after his manager, catching his arm before he could make good his escape. "I'm sorry Jack; honest," he said, as he led the other man back into the room and sat him down on the sofa. When he was sure his friend wasn't going to move, Billy walked over to sit on the edge of the bed, and returned to tuning his guitar as if nothing had happened to interrupt the process. "Come on Pal," Billy pleaded. "I've been on tour nine months out of every year, for the last four years. I'm drug out man, I can't deal with this right now. But I promise, we'll straighten it out tomorrow. OK?"

"All right," Jack agreed. Somewhat mollified, but still pouting. "But. You're not getting out of it. You're gonna sit down with me and take care of this mess yourself. You got it?"

"Sure Jack," Billy replied smugly. Having won this round in his perpetual tug of war with his manager. "I said I promise."

Billy placed his note book on the bed, where he could read it, and said, "Now listen Jack. This just came to me, and I've got a whole lot of ideas that will go with it too. They're gonna make a great album. You know we're under contract to get one out this year." He took a deep breath, and went on. "Now you've got to imagine the drums. See. It starts like this."

Curling his long fingers dexterously around the neck of the guitar, Billy strummed a quiet chord, which sounded like a soft intake of breath. "Listen," he said, "you can hear the bass drum coming in real soft...like a heartbeat...and building. Like someone coming alive for the first time and then it-- Stops."

His voice, taking on the hypnotic tone that always came through in his singing and never failed to hold an audience captivated throughout one of his performances, Billy strummed the breath of music on the guitar again as he explained.

"This is about values."

"As if you would know." Jack remarked.

"Yea. Yea. Now listen," Billy said. "The drummer plays a soft marching roll on the snare with his brushes, and the bass guitar picks up the heartbeat, and you can hear the breathing in the background--we'll have to get some girl backup singers to do that part.

"OK? You got it? Here we go:"

"The children of our freedom
are dying in their wombs. So.
Our freedom doesn't
bring us pain. Today.

"We are children in our darkness.
Playing love. Burn your daughters down.
In the morning
you won't remember. Anyway...."

Billy played through the instrumental part of the song, and then sang the lyrics once more, the second time sounding even sadder than the first. By the time he had completed the song, Jack could almost hear the rest of the band playing along.

It took his breath away.

"Billy," he stated. For now, once more in the singers thrall. "I don't know how a jerk like you can sound so sensitive and so passionate, and still be such a jerk."

*

Billy came from behind the curtain, attempting to walk the distance in a straight line. Failing that, he stumbled his way across the darkness of the stage, somehow making it to his place in front of the band. He clutched at it, and managed to remain upright long enough to sit down on the stool, positioned before his microphone. The audience was not witness to this undignified entrance; the stage lights were not on, and the footlights other than marking the front of the stage, provided little illumination.

There was a sweet familiarity about the moment; looking out onto the crowd. Billy could feel the people breathe expectation, as they gazed toward the single spot of light which slowly brightened into existence, and pinpointed his lone figure in front of the band. And waited.

Some of them had been hanging in for a long time. As had he. Others had given up, and weren't there in the familiar pre-show darkness. A quiet eclipse of light and sound, peppered by the firefly glow of a thousand Bic lighters. The air filled with the smells of sweating bodies, mixed with the scents of ten thousand different brands of colognes and perfumes. Tinged by the acrid smell of enough burning marijuana to justify a major drug bust, were it all collected into a single pile. The distant sounds of the city, heard coming from beyond the confines of the outdoor stadium, interspersed with whispers of personal conversation, and a general shush of verbal anticipation that the long vigil of faith was, at last, about to be rewarded. Tonight they would see the show.

Billy couldn't say that he blamed the ones who were not there. There was a time; no, there were many times when they came. Came for the music, and found instead only empty silence, filled with disappointment. Still, this time, he was here.

Glancing toward the guys in the band, Billy gave them a thumbs-up, and bent to retrieve the guitar his stage hands had prepared and tuned to perfection, then placed on the stand in front of the foot lights. He could almost feel the pressure--pressure generated by his untoward entrance--emanating from the guys. They had endured many nights on stage, while Billy performed in a semiconscious state of drunkenness. Although he was still standing, the other band members were not at all confidant that Billy would last the two hours until the end of the show.

Billy knew he couldn't blame them, anymore than he could blame his fans. Everyone, including Billy, had grown weary of continual episodes of disappointment.

As the lights came up, he gazed out over the rows of seats arrayed before him. In that instant, enduring a brief confrontation with the truth. Thinking to himself: This has been too hard for far too long. I just don't have any more to give. The thrill is gone.

Once again, he escaped the reality of that moment. He took a drink from the bottle which, against Jack's strict orders, someone had left sitting in the floor next to his guitar stand.

Billy leaned toward the waiting listeners. "I have tequila juice...oozing from my pores," he whispered into the microphone. "It's tomorrow. I'm back. I wrote this song a long time ago, but never got around to recording it."

The rest of the stage lights came up, and the band began to play:

"Dream of tomorrow
while living today.
Live in tomorrow
when it comes your way.

"Let yesterdays go
where yesterdays do.
Keep only the goodness
they've given to you...."

The audience went wild at the onset of the music, and by the time the song was over there was pandemonium in the theater.

Billy luxuriated in the roar of frenzied sound. Greedy for more of that singular rush performing always gave him. A high unlike any he had ever found in the drugs, or the booze. Which items had nevertheless, without his quite knowing how, consumed his soul and far too many times stolen these precious moments from his world. In his element again, he took control, and went immediately into some of the older songs. The songs his fans all knew. The ones they had come to hear him play.

"This is one I know you've all heard before," he promised them.

Turning to face the band, powered by a rebirth of the frenetic energy which always coursed through his body during a live performance, Billy jumped into the air, and while in mid-flight, sent a crescendo of sound crashing through the auditorium from the strings of his guitar. He spun completely around, landed in front of the microphone and, as the others in the group came in to play, began to sing:

"I can't speed up.
I can't slow down.
I can't back up,
or turn around.

"The dice are tossed.
The cards are drawn.
I played the game;
became your pawn.

"I can't give up.
I can't keep on.
I can't speak up,
you turn me down.

"I thought your love
would last for time.
I thought your love
was always mine.

"You flew me up
above the ground.
You flew away.
I'm crashing down...."

Billy never wanted to lose the audience once he had them in his grip again. Without the thrill of performing on stage, all he had to do was drink, and party himself into oblivion. He continued to assail them with tunes from his past successful albums. He knew what they wanted to hear, and also knew it was difficult to introduce new songs live, while on-stage. Better leave that to the radio disc-jockeys, and record sales departments of local stores.

The band sailed through thirty more songs. Each one a classic from the days of their riotous ascension up the charts, to claim the crown. To reign, for their brief time, as the Kings of Rock and Roll.

Billy's massive psyche was still charged with the power of his music, but the flesh and bone of his body was beginning to drain itself of the adrenaline that had earlier coursed through his veins, and lent him the locomotive energy which powered the freight train rush of his performance.

The audience yelled for more. They, like their idol, were still not satiated, but sensed their musical banquet was drawing to a close. The people hungered for his music, to fill their empty time. Billy hungered too. But he knew the end was near.

Having long since emptied the bottle left out front for him by the stage hands, he began to dance along the edge of the stage, letting the crowd touch his hands as he passed. Some of the fans handed him drugs, and bottles of booze; most of which he tossed back into the mass of people before him. He toked on the joints handed him, and passed those back. Some of the bottles he drank from, and these too handed back to the giver.

At last, he accepted a bottle of whiskey from someone, returning with it to his stool, while the security guards covered his retreat. Fighting back the throng of climbers, attempting to get on stage with the singer.

"I know some of you have been waiting a long, long time folks," Billy said into the microphone, before taking a drink from his new bottle and then sitting it on the floor. "I absolutely love you all for hangin' in! I'm really glad you came tonight!"

Turning first to silently signal the band, Billy leaned into the microphone, and said aloud, "So love me!" Then began to sing:

"So you love me little darlin',
and together we will fly;
to dream castles of my making,
up above your world so high.

"And in your imagination
it will be love for all time.
But your only destination
will be to get left behind.

"To be stranded in some desert,
realizing I am gone.
With emptiness surrounding you,
while you sit and cry alone.

"Until another lover finds you,
in your sorrow and despair.
Out of mercy tries to comfort you,
but I still will not be there.

"He will love the best he can,
and he will love you long.
But he still will be just another man,
and I will still be gone.

"And your heart will never soar again.
No matter how it tries.
And you will take no pleasure in
a love that never dies.

"So love me little darlin'.
Put your heart right in my hand.
It will crumble when I leave you,
slip through my fingers just like sand.

"These things are in my nature.
They are not part of my plan.
I would stay with you forever here,
but I don't think that I can...."

Billy was about to sing the last song of the night, when a young girl broke past the guards surrounding the stage and rushed to his side. She threw her arms around him and tried to kiss him. He was grateful for that, there had been past occasions when he had his cloths torn off, his hair ripped from his head, and other parts of his anatomy rudely groped at. Parts he preferred to have touched in more private circumstances.

As the security guards attempted to pull her away from him, Billy waved them aside, and gently took the girls hands in his own. He lifted her arms, placed them around his neck and, sliding his guitar around to the side, out of his way, took her by the waist. Pulling her close, he gave her a long, romantic kiss. Before the girl could faint from sheer ecstasy, he released her.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he removed a backstage pass, and handed it to her. Then whispered in her ear, "Here darlin'. Just show them this at the back of the theater, and they'll let you in for the party after the show. OK?"

She nodded her head in understanding, adoration for her idol radiating from her face. The girl would have been satisfied at simply having been allowed to touch him. Billy had actually kissed her! Lost in overpowering rapture, she peacefully let herself be led away by the guards.

"All! Right!" Billy yelled to the crowd, as he composed himself. "Let's play some more Rock! And! Roll!"

"Rock and Roll you had control,
but anymore it's all the same to me.
Rock and Roll you had control,
but anymore it's all the same to me.

"Music in the morning.
Came in without warning.
Led the children to the fountain,
but you know they didn't count then.

"Music for their generation.
Music for the celebration.
They listened to you sing about
the truth that you were bringing out.

"They were looking for an answer,
taking any chance to
escape their fathers cancer;
for themselves.

"Their morals were all broken.
Their grief was all but spoken.
Their beliefs were but a token
to yourself...."

Pulling a handkerchief from his back pocket, Billy wiped his forehead, and said, "You guys have been tremendous. I want to thank each of you for coming out, and I hope I'll see all of you the next time!"

A roar of, "NO's!" and, "ONE MORE SONG's!" assaulted him as he lifted his hands and pleaded, "OK! OK! But just one more and then I'm gone. This is my desire:"

"Love me for this moment.
Let tomorrow go,
if living for the moment
is the only way we'll know.

"Life is such a brief thing,
passing by and gone.
What we do now, together,
is forever when it's done.

"I could want to love you dearly,
tenderly, and long.
I would love you, just as clearly,
knowing you would soon be gone.

"Then the vision of your beauty,
and the sweetness of your smile,
would perform their tragic duty,
and be with me for a while.

"And the love which lingered after
the fading of that fire,
would be just and due repayment
for fulfilling this desire...."

Knowing it was likely safer there, than in his possession, Billy sat his guitar back in the stand, and turned to leave the stage as the curtain came down behind him. Cutting off the shouted demands from the crowd that he play still more.

The band was waiting for him, with congratulations.

His fat little manager, Jack, came from the wings, reached up to pound him on the back, and yelled in his ear, "Great show Billy! Just fantastic!"

Billy, drunk and exhausted, but pumped and excited at the same time, replied, "Yea. Thanks guys. Let's get back stage to the party."

"All right!" yelled out the piano player, ready to go.

Billy was already gone.

*

Billy woke up to the warm feeling of sun light on his face, opened his eyes, and realized that he didn't know where he was, or for that matter, how he had got where he didn't know he was.

He was stretched out on his back.

Moving to sit up, he discovered that he was on a large soft bed, in a room he had no recollection of entering. Next to him was a young girl, lying on her side, reposed in sleep. He could not see her face, which was covered by the long blond hair, that he suddenly recalled blurred images of running his fingers through the night before. The girl, partially covered by a sheet, was obviously naked. Judging from what part of her was exposed.

God, he thought, as he looked down at her somewhat hidden form, I hope she's at least eighteen. Jack is gonna kill me.

Then, although--other than the few brief moments of recollected lovemaking--he couldn't remember a thing after that incident, he recognized the girl as the one who had accosted him near the end of the concert. Whom he had rewarded with a back stage pass after she had climbed up out of the crowd, and succeeded in eluding the guards, long enough to reach his side.

"Well," he told himself, "at least she's here willingly. That's one point in my favor."

Looking around, he spotted the window from which the sunlight that had awakened him was filtering its way through a pair of sheer, white lace curtains, and entering the room. Billy knew it had to be afternoon. He never woke up early enough for the morning sun to be that low on the horizon.

With some careful maneuvering, of himself and the sheets, he managed to get out of the bed without waking the girl. Separated from the bedclothes, he found himself to be just as naked as she was. He searched under the bed until he located his underwear. He didn't know where the rest of his clothes were, but let it go for now. The underwear was enough to appease his meager modesty. If it bothered the girl, she could worry about finding his missing clothes.

As Billy turned toward the door, he spotted a joint lying on the night stand, next to the sleeping girls side of the bed. He tiptoed carefully around the foot of the bed, and searched through the mixed array of brushes, combs, night-creams, lipsticks and used Kleenex, until finding a lighter. Taking both the smoke, and the lighter with him, Billy left the room. Firing up the joint as he went, he toked, and stumbled his way through the cozy little apartment, searching for the kitchen and something to eat.

Looking in the cabinets under the sink, he counted a variety of canned goods, and various boxes of snack crackers. None of which suited his palate for breakfast. He moved to the refrigerator, and found it bare, except for some bologna and a jar of mayonnaise, which he carried to the table. After locating a loaf of stale bread, which was sitting on the counter next to the microwave, he made himself a sandwich. Sitting down at the table, Billy spent the time daydreaming, and humming a tune in his head as he ate.

He jumped in surprise when the girl walked up behind him, and without speaking began to massage his shoulders.

Turning to look up at her he said, around the food in his mouth, "Hi there. You startled me. Didn't know you were up."

The girl, still dressed in only the sheet she had been wearing in her sleep, walked around the table and sat down across from Billy.

"Just woke up," she replied

While staring at him with lost puppy-dog eyes, she added, stating honestly, "I was afraid you were gone and I would never see you again."

Billy laughed, and reassured her. "I may be a lot of different kinds of jerk wads honey, but I never leave a lady without at least knowing her name."

"Oh," she said, pulling the sheet a little more securely about her upper body, realizing she had slept the night with a man who didn't even know her name. "Lisa. Lisa Goodman."

Billy was forced to look away, as she gazed at him until her eyes began to take on a hypnotic quality. He wondered how she could go so long without blinking.

Only half smiling, she ask, "Does that mean you're going to leave now?"

He returned her smile with a brighter one, and replied, "No, I don't think so. I think I'll stay a while, if you don't have something more important to do. And. If you would like that is."

She smiled, a real smile now, excited at the prospect. "That's great! Maybe we could go out, and I'll show you the sites of beautiful downtown Omaha. Have you ever been here before?"

"No. First time," Billy answered, finishing off the last of his sandwich, and looking for something to wipe his hands on. Lisa turned, stretching to reach across the small space behind her, and pulled a dishcloth from where it was draped over the oven door handle. Then turned back, and handed it to Billy.

Abruptly, she jumped up and ran from the room. As she went, calling back over her shoulder, "I'll be ready in a jiffy!"

Billy smiled, watching as the sheet fell away from her shoulders, allowing him a glimpse of her smooth back and the firm round shape of her bottom, before she disappeared around the edge of the door.

As she hurried in the direction of the bedroom, he called out, "I noticed you have a guitar in the living room. Would you mind if I played it? And I need to make a phone call! OK?"

Lisa slid to a stop, and popped her head back around the corner long enough to say, "Sure. To both questions. Go right ahead!"

Billy, still dressed in nothing but his underwear, sat at the table tuning the guitar, while he waited for the operator at the hotel to connect him with Jack's room.

When his manager came on the line, before he could say more than, "Hello", Billy jumped in:

"Hey, Chief! How ya doin'? Man, that was a great concert--"

"Where the hell are you?" Jack cut in from the other end. "We've been looking for you all day. Damn it Billy, we just talked about this yesterday. If you're in jail, I'm not coming to bail you out. You're on your own this time."

"Hold on Jack. Just hold on. Everything is fine. I'm working on some songs with this lady I met."

"Lady my rear-end she's probably sixteen." Jack said.

Billy chuckled into the phone. "No. I think she's seventeen...All right Jack; I'm only kidding! Have you got a recorder handy?...Yea, yea just turn it on. I need to get something down right away before I forget it...Yes Jack...Jack I mean it, if you don't turn on the recorder I'll hang up...OK...I need to get this down so we can use it the studio on the next album...Of course we'll have to do it over in the sound stage, I just want it down so I don't forget...You ready? Good. Hold the phone up to the recorder. Thanks...Yea, yea...I gotta go Jack. The lady's waiting for me, right this minute she needs someone to sing...."

"She stands there just waiting,
and hoping for rain.
Her blue jeans are fading,
but so is the pain.

"In that last bar room
she thought she'd found the one.
Like the rest he loved her,
'till the good times were gone.

"And lost in the street lights
she knows there's a song,
and someone to sing it
if he'd only come along.

"Daddies and daughters
will turn out the same.
While you're taking his daughter
he plays the same game.

"In the darkness of the bar room
you see a familiar face,
but you know your little darlin'
wouldn't be here in this place...."

Billy put the guitar down, and picked the phone back up, "Jack did you get all that...Yea I've been working on it for a while. I got up and finished it this morning...All right, afternoon...You like it?...Good. Look I'll call you tomorrow or something; I'm going site seeing...Now Jack don't be like that...Jack tell me if this sounds like a telephone hanging up."

Billy hung up the phone, and laughed. Jack hated it when he did that.

______________________

TWO

For an only companion, Mona lived with the yearning ache of loneliness. No matter the degree of danger, hitchhiking was the only way she had to travel right now, and she had to find Billy. She had all of Billy's albums in her backpack. Had played each of them over and over, searching for an explanation or, failing that, at least enough of an understanding that she might grasp the meaning of his life. And thereby be able to cope with her own.

Mona had memorized every word of his lyrics.

She had read every magazine article ever written about him.

From what she could discern, she figured he must be just as terribly lonely as she. Mona knew she would have to meet him in person. After countless searching, she could find no message of hope in his songs. She had waited most of her young life for the opportunity to see Billy. She would endure whatever it took to get to him. She had to find Billy.

Even after she caught up with him, it was going to be hard for her to arrange to see him in person, but she would find a way. From the stories Mona had read of him, she believed she already knew how to go about it.

Mona was aware that she shouldn't be out trying to hitch this late at night, but she hadn't been able to get a ride since making the last guy who had picked her up let her out on the side of the road. She had managed to get her gun out of her purse and, after sticking him in the side with it at least as many times as he had poked her in the ribs while telling his disgusting jokes, convinced him to stop groping her and let her out of the car.

It was already dark and the nearest town was twenty miles behind her. If someone didn't pick her up soon she would have to spend the night on the side of the road, and that certainly wasn't a good place for a brown haired, blue eyed, five foot tall, sixteen year old girl to be spending the night alone. If the four legged animals didn't get her, the four wheeled ones might.

Mona hated a lot of things:

She hated her father.

She hated social workers.

She hated policemen.

Sometimes she hated herself.

The thing she hated the most, right at this moment, was hitching at night. It was impossible to tell who was stopping to pick you up until you already had the door open and were about to get in the car. By then it might be too late to change your mind, and the Cop's didn't make it any better. Some of them were a hitchers worst nightmare.

Thinking of the police, she cinched her pack up on her back, and began walking in the direction she was traveling. Better to be moving if a Cop did come along. At least then, if he was an honest Cop, and didn't try to rape you himself, you might be able to convince him you were broke down, or just walking and not hitching rides. Maybe. If you were lucky, you might even meet one nice enough to give you a ride to a gas station. If not. Oh well, she thought, with a shudder. I've had to deal with that before.

Whatever happened out here could not compete with the nightmare she had left behind in Indiana. No one should have to be subjected to such loneliness and fear. After all the horrors of being raised by parents whose ideas of loving you ranged from looking the other way, to beating and trying to rape you. Being alone, and terrified, most of the time. Defending yourself, or hiding until the old man passed out, and you managed to climb out a window and run away. And then none of them believing your story, when the police did catch you. Because you had nowhere to run to. No choice, except being returned to the people you should love. But hated instead. And when at last you were believed, you expected more from the social workers sent to your rescue than being dumped in a place worse than the home you had finally escaped from.

Mona had a lot of reasons to hate.

Sometimes she wished she had been born a boy. Her childhood might well have been a very different place, if she had, at least as far as the old man was concerned. He wasn't the type to rape little boys. He might have still beat her, had she been a boy, but it probably would have ended with, and might not have come to that at all. He liked to beat on women.

That's all right, she thought, he won't be doing it to any one else.

If she had been a boy, it likely would not have changed her relationship with her mother, who held Mona responsible for the ruin of her life. Mona was the one available to be blamed, so her mother took it out on her daughter, for herself getting pregnant and having to marry at such a young age. Still, she didn't hate her mother; she felt only pity for the abused woman.

In truth, Mona knew her young life wasn't her fault at all. That responsibility could be laid entirely on her fathers karma. She had tried to be a good child, and not blame who she was now, or the circumstances of her birth, for the rest of her life. Things just were not working out that way.

Mona was pulled from her reverie by the sound of a car approaching, headed in the same direction she was going. Turning to face the oncoming headlights, she struck up the traditional female hitchhikers stance: Left hand on left hip. Shoulders back; thrusting the chest out. The hip with the hand on it, cocked to the side. Bearing most of the bodies weight, and aimed at the possible ride. The right leg pointed at the road, bent at the knee at such an angle as to draw the dress up the thigh, in an alluring suggestion of a different kind of ride. The hair hanging free, and hiding the face. Just enough that the driver of the car would have to at least slow down in order to check out the looks of his prospective passenger. Right arm extended, with the hand closed in a fist, and the thumb pointing down the road.

Semaphoring the silent question: "Going my way?"

No one had taught her these hitchhikers tactics. Mona had learned the hard way: Through on the job training. She readied herself to face whatever was to come with the ride.

The car began to slow, and pulled onto the median. Coming to a stop along side the road, just past where she was standing. Mona ran the short distance to the waiting automobile. Noting, as she drew nearer, that it was one of those expensive European models, although she didn't know what kind. She leaned down and looked in the window, then opened the door, slid her pack off her shoulder, and climbed in. Ready to bolt from the car, and make a run for the relative safety of the weed covered ditch separating the road from the cultivated fields receding into the darkness on either side, should she sense a greater danger lying in wait within the confines of the vehicle. On more than one occasion, enduring the cuts and abrasions of the roadsides native plant life had probably saved her from suffering a worse fate, at the hands of the monsters she had encountered while hitching alone on the highway.

To her surprise, Mona saw that it was a woman driving. Women seldom stopped to give her a lift. Mostly, her rides were with older men, whose conversation ranged from warnings, and admonitions about a young girl hitchhiking down the highway, to veiled, or outright suggestions about sex.

Younger men seldom stopped to pick her up, and when they did, Mona was leery about accepting rides with them anyway. Too many young guys were druggies, or worse, and not to be trusted at all.

She closed the door, and said, "Thanks for the ride." The woman let off the brake and the car began rolling forward.

Her benefactor, watching carefully for traffic, despite the fact that there was no one else on the road but the lone car she was driving, skillfully pulled back into the westbound lane, and accelerated up to speed.

She looked over at Mona several times before asking, "Did you run away from home, Honey?"

Mona, trying to sound piqued, replied, "Certainly not! I'm eighteen years old. My car broke down and I'm trying to get to--"

The woman interrupted her, before she could finish her story. Physically, there was no resemblance at all, but when the woman spoke she reminded Mona of her fifth grade school teacher. This lady, unlike her teacher, who had been a portly woman--who had always kept her hair up in a bun, and dressed like one of those old ladies you see at the bingo hall--was thinly built, and was attired as if she had just come from a party. Her hair was perfectly combed, and hanging free about her shoulders. She was wearing a long dress. A shade of deep jade green, which Mona kind of liked, and wouldn't have minded wearing herself. If she had any place to wear such a thing. Around her neck was what--to Mona--looked like a setting of genuine pearls. From her attire, and the car she was driving, Mona could only surmise that the woman must have a lot of money. She wondered what the lady was doing dressed like that this late at night. Driving down the highway in the middle of nowhere.

"Young Lady! You may be able to fool truck drivers, and traveling salesmen with that line--probably because they don't care how old you are in the first place--but I'm a woman, and I know better. You're not more than fourteen. If you're not thirteen!"

"I'm sixteen," Mona retorted. "Last month."

She added, before the woman could reply, "And. I'm not going home, ever, so don't try to convince me I should. I just need a ride to the next town please."

_____________________________________

THREE

When Lisa was finished with all the things a woman has to go through to clean her self, that a man does not, Billy got in the shower. Soon after, as he moved through living room, putting his shirt on while at the same time heading for the kitchen, the phone began ringing.

"Don't answer that!" he called out. Moving to intercept Lisa before she could get through the door and pick up the phone. "It might be Jack. That sonofabitch could find me after the FBI had given up looking, and written me off for dead."

Lisa had beaten him to the phone; her hand was already in motion. Thinking he was being funny, she laughed, reached around the door into the kitchen, and lifted the handset from its cradle on the kitchen wall. In the same motion moving to bring it to her ear.

Billy got his hand over the mouthpiece before she could speak. With a note of seriousness coming into his voice he said, "I'm not kidding."

He took the phone and hung it back up, as he informed her, "I can't get away from that guy. He follows me everywhere I go; he thinks he has to keep me out of trouble." Some part of his mind, with which he refused to knowingly communicate, realized the implications of that statement. That segment of his psyche, not wishing to dwell on such things, silently instructed his conscious mind to change the subject.

"Where's all the excitement in this town, Lisa? I thought you were gonna show me the sites."

"Yea. Sure Billy," Lisa replied, shrugging her shoulders. She went back to toweling her hair. When it was dry enough to suit her, she moved to stand in front of the large mirror, which was mounted on the living room wall next to the door, which let into the apartment from the second floor hallway. After inspecting herself for a moment, she began untangling her hair with a brush she had picked up, as she walked between the couch and the coffee table, on her way to the mirror.

As Lisa groomed herself she said, "We can go downtown and eat at a nice restaurant and then go--"

"No. No. No," Billy interrupted. Moving to stand behind her, looking over the top of her head, and talking to her reflection in the mirror. "I don't think so. I want to party girl! Jack hasn't let me out of his sight since he put this tour together three months ago."

As Lisa met his gaze in the mirror, Billy shook his head in exasperation, his long brown hair bouncing freely from side to side. She wondered why it was that guys could have such nice hair with so little effort. If she tried to get by without constantly shampooing, conditioning, brushing, and otherwise codling her hair, it would soon fall out of her head.

"That guy's worse than my father ever was. When I was a kid, I used to think no one could be more concerned with the whereabouts of some one else than my old man was of me. But Jack. I mean to tell you." Billy leaned his head to one side, lifted his eyebrows and nodded, saying, "Believe me, you would have to be there to understand! If I so much as go to the bathroom, and don't come back in five minutes, he's pounding on the door to make sure I'm not shooting up or something. Like I'm some kind of junkie."

Billy, having finished dressing as he talked, and more because he was in a hurry to get moving than because he cared how the girls hair looked, took the brush from her hand and began to stroke it through the long locks of her hair. Much the same way he would have had he been brushing a cat.

Lisa not minding at all, grateful for his small attentions, leaned into his chest and almost purred as she inquired, "Surely, he can't be that bad Billy? He seemed like a really nice guy last night at the party."

"Oh, you just don't know him like I do," he explained, bending down to lay the brush on the small writing desk sitting against the wall beneath the mirror. Then turning her around to button her shirt up for her.

"I think he must have been an evangelist or something before he met me. That's why he reminds me of my father. He was a preacher you know."

Lisa, giggling as he tickled and dressed her at the same time, replied, "No. You're not serious?"

"That's the God's truth," Billy said. "A Holy Rollin'. Tent travelin'. Down in the woods. Baptize 'em in the creek, preacher. Tried to save me harder than anybody else he knew. He always thought I was sure to be off being sinful somewhere when he didn't have me right under his thumb."

"The only good thing," Billy concluded, as he took her by the arm and walked her toward the door, "he ever did for me was to make me learn to play the piano, and guitar, and learn to sing on key. He didn't expect me to join a Rock Band though. He wanted me to be in the choir. Imagine that."

Still giggling, Lisa said, "It's kind of hard to picture."

When they reached the door, she stopped and looked back over her shoulder, then turned and dashed back into the apartment.

"Where are you going?" Billy called after her.

"What?" she ask, not looking back. "Oh...wait a minute. I've got to get my purse, it has my keys, and my money in it."

"Well, just get your keys and leave the purse. You don't need money when you're with me Kidd-O," he said.

Lisa, her voice muffled by the walls separating them, answered him from the bedroom. "I've got to take my purse. My stuff's in it!"

"What stuff?" he ask, as she came running back to the door, with the purse over her shoulder.

"You know...my Pot," she answered. "I don't smoke all the time, but when I'm out partying I usually do. So I don't want to leave it."

Billy smiled as she closed and locked the door.

"Speaking of Pot," he said. Putting his arm around her. Conspiring with himself, as he walked with her toward the elevator. "You don't have anything else in there do you? Like some speeders, or some Coke maybe?"

Lisa glanced up at Billy with an indecisive expression on her face. Hesitated a moment, and then replied. "No, but I know a place where you can get some coke, if you have the money. Sometimes some of my friends get it there, but I never can afford it. So I don't mess with it."

"Well tonight you can afford it, so I think that place you know would be a good place to start our site seeing tour," Billy declared as if it were settled. Lisa agreed, with no more hesitation, to take him there.

Since deciding she wanted to live on her own, and leaving home several years before, life had not offered Lisa much in the way of relationships. Coming from a large family, headed by parents who were deeply in love, and cared for their children as much as they did for each other, Lisa's youth had been sheltered from the evils which now invaded her young life. At twenty-two, she was still naive in a way that most people had (if they had ever been that way at all) long since forgotten they ever were. Expecting the rest of the people in the world to be like her own family, Lisa often found herself being victimized.

Not grossly. She suffered no events traumatic enough to change her conception of herself, such that she might--as a result of that stronger personal awareness--become able to detect the self seeking behaviors of those people, who were now the fixtures of her social environment.

Lisa was one of those seemingly fortunate persons who always had a wealth of friends. Each of whom used her in their own tiny little ways. Money borrowed, and never returned. Car used, and brought back dented, where there had been no dents before, or simply returned missing the full tank of gas, which Lisa always made sure the car had before she loaned it out. Acquaintances stopping by to eat a free meal, but never thinking to bring in some groceries, when they noted that her cupboard was bare.

Little things.

Which always left her irritated with them. But not angry enough at her friends to remove them from her life.

Actually, none of these events, or the people who caused them, were severe enough to bring lasting harm to the young girl. Most of her friends truly, in their own fashion, did care for Lisa. Wishing her no ill. Simply taking advantage. Because she allowed it.

The real tragedies of her life were the men she took as lovers. Having no other experience, she expected someone like her father to live behind the faces of the men she became involved with. But she kept looking for that man in places where such are not to be found.

Lisa chose her men from those who inhabited the haunts she frequented, with the new friends she had made, since coming to the city. Expecting kindness and honesty, assistance and advice. Decency and respect. Expecting romance, and just a little tenderness from the opposite sex. Time and time again, she found instead, only a mystifying, and bitter disappointment.

Perhaps if she had known to look in other places. But she did not. So, while certainly not belonging, she was lured into the glittering world of her friends. She gravitated with them toward the clubs, and dance halls.

Places where they fit in and were a natural part of the landscape. Were functioning members of the life cycle of predator and prey, within the small confines of the nighttime world. Were equipped with the weapons and defenses necessary for survival in that weekend wasteland. Able to take their pleasure, and leave before the party consumed them in its orgy of abandon. Knew to be safely home again before the next day came. Go back to their jobs and families. Back to their normal lives.

Wounded just enough to remember, that for a little time they had stepped outside that saner place. Had gone looking for a vicarious thrill, with which to break the monotony of daily living.

Probably, none of them even realized that the young girl they had helped introduce to this illusion of a good time was not armored with the awareness she needed to cope with the carnivores who circled that small society. Circled like wolves. Waiting for the weak to fall behind, and lose the protection of the pack. They were not aware that their funny little friend was instantly marked as a victim by any stalker who spotted her. That she seldom journeyed safely into the forest of the night and emerged again unscathed, come Monday morning, into the light of another day. Her friends were, in their own way, as naive as Lisa.

Not knowing.

That in itself was tragedy enough. But had they known, what could they have done? Needing to be loved, she would not stop looking.

Lisa couldn't wait to get on the town, and show Billy off to her friends. She hadn't minded sneaking him out of the back stage party, and taking him home with her. Living by yourself often left you lonely. A companion, if only for one night, was sometimes welcome. But, to have even one night with Billy Tomorrow.... Yes!

She had figured that was where it would end; with no one believing her when she told them she had slept with the Rock Star. Now she was actually going to be seen by people she knew. On a date with him no less! It was worth the pain.

Having been preyed upon, and hurt too many times already, Lisa had learned enough to nurse her wounds in silence. Crying out would only have invited more of the same.

Bearing his own secret wounds. Carrying with him constantly the hidden scars of his own terrible battles. Billy kept a different kind of silence. He was not the prey. Nor was he just another predator.

Unleashed in the waters of a Midwestern town, such as Omaha, Nebraska, he was like a piranha in a goldfish bowel. Billy swept through the lives of the people living in such sheltered waters, like a ravaging beast from some earlier segment of the earths history. A creature evolved to fit a time of more abundant living, and more frequent dying. A place where the only rule was: Eat or be eaten. He was like some voracious creature brought here from an age of death and destruction. A time long before evolution had mellowed the worlds ecology, and left a somewhat kinder cycle of life upon the land.

Billy was a social raptor who preyed upon an innocent society. Like some deadly interloper from the age of the dinosaurs, loosed today among a shepherd less flock of sheep. Who, equipped to face an occasional wolf, were left totally powerless against such a terrible lizards charge.

Billy wasn't evil. He just was. He was Billy.

Knowing little of love; he knew nothing of mercy.

About to strike. He could not find it within himself to seek compassion for this fragile girl. He smiled in anticipation, as the elevator doors closed upon her last opportunity to escape the darkness.

The world was full of Lisa's. Billy just wanted to get to where the party was. He hadn't had any coke since before the tour started. Jack absolutely would not let him near the stuff.

________________________________________

FOUR

The woman obviously had not wanted to let Mona out at the truck stop. Nearly driving past the exit, until Mona insisted for the third time that she pull in. Finally realizing that, short of kidnaping, she could not keep the girl in the car against her will, the woman had relented and let her off at the entrance to the all night restaurant, located next to the service station kiosk.

As soon as they were stopped Mona, yelling, "Thanks for the ride!" over her shoulder as she went, darted from the car, and hurried in through the double doors. Once inside, she moved to a window, watching through the glass until she was certain the woman had indeed driven off into the night, and was not herself going to park and come in.

Mona was tired and hungry, but decided that putting distance between herself and the last place the woman could tell the police she had been, was more urgent than rest or eating. She was certain the woman would call and report a runaway hitchhiking on the highway, as soon as her conscience had a little time to work on her.

She went back out to the parking lot.

Standing in the shadows at the corner of the building, Mona surveyed the people exiting the restaurant. She waited there until she spotted someone who had the look of a trucker come out, and head in the direction of where the big rigs were parked.

Mona sized up the truck driver as she followed him toward his rig. He seemed to be OK. He was an older man, and he wore a wedding band. Of course, that didn't mean a thing in most cases. But, if she was lucky, in this instance it might.

The man circled the truck, checking his tires and pulling on the airlines which fed the trailer brakes, making sure they were securely connected before moving to the cab of the big Peterbuilt. As he opened the door and was about to climb up into the cab, Mona caught hold of his shirt sleeve. Giving it a tug.

"Hey mister. Think I could catch a ride with you to the next town?" she ask. Having to look up to meet his gaze; the man was taller than he had appeared from a distance.

The man looked down, appraising his assailant carefully before saying, "Why girl child, you ain't even old enough to be running' around this here truck stop by yourself. Let alone trying to hitch rides with mean old truckers like me."

He removed the baseball cap he was wearing cocked back on the top of his head, exposing the curly brown hair that, starting at the temples, was beginning to match in color his unusual slate gray eyes. He reached, with some small effort, around the front of himself--which was conspicuously protruding above the confines of his belt--and took a handkerchief from his back pocket. Then stood for a moment looking around the parking lot as he wiped his brow.

"Marguerite warned me that someday I was going to run into women like you," he said. Glancing down to wink at Mona as he spoke.

'Why just before I left on this run, she said, 'Bobby (that's me--Bobby) Now here you are going on the road for three weeks--that's near to a month--and you're going to be running into all of them loose women out there on the road without me along to protect you. You know how gullible you are sometimes. Why! One of them truck stop women could just make you believe almost anything. And next thing you know there you'd be, with her sittin' right up there in the cab of the truck with you. A-goin' on down the highway as pretty as you please, and you just a-grinnin' from ear to ear. Thinkin' you was puttin' one over on me. But I can tell Bobby. Yes sir. I can tell when you've been messin' around out there instead of keepin' your mind on drivin' that truck straight back home like you should....'"

Mona thought for a moment that the man was going to stand there in the parking lot the rest of the night and go on about Marguerite, but he finally wound down and simply said, "Now you just climb on up there honey, but don't you go tryin' nothin' funny like with me. Hear? I'm two times old enough to have my own daughter your age."

Bobby walked with her to the other side of the truck, opened the door, and waited until she had climbed up into the cab, and was situated in the passenger seat to his satisfaction. Then the man--who had tried to let her know in his own round about fashion that she would be safe riding with him--shut the door from the outside. Walked around the front of the cab and, with surprising agility for someone of his girth and apparent age, bounced up into the drivers seat.

Bobby cranked up the massive diesel, sending horrendous clouds of oily black smoke rising into the night sky above the parking lot. He shifted into gear, and let the clutch out until the truck heaved itself up, bucking like a mule pulling a plow through hard packed dirt, before beginning to move toward the entrance ramp which lead back onto the highway.

Without taking his eyes from the road he said, "Now listen girlie. I don't often give rides to nobody, but there's some pretty bad people driving these here rigs up and down the road nowadays. So I'm takin' you on just to keep you from hitchin' with any of them rough necks I was jawin' at back there in that restaurant. It ain't like when I was young. We took pride in bein' a trucker, and had some morals about ourselves."

He shook his head in sorrow, for the loss of those better times that he had known in his youth. Times which, like all of us, he remembered as being the golden years of the world. Gone. Never to return.

"Today," he continued, "there's them out on the road would kill you for that there little pocket book you got your hand buried in. Holdin' onto that knife. Or gun. Or whatever you got in there that makes you feel a little safer sittin' up here all alone with old Bobby." Then he did look at her. And laughed good-naturedly, the crinkles around his eyes growing even more pronounced as he did, when she hurriedly slid the purse closer to the passenger door. To keep it from his reach.

"Now. Now. Don't you fret none young lady. I don't care about your little old gun or whatever. I got me a big old forty-five of my own tucked up under the seat. Right next to my leg, where I can reach it real quick like," he said, between shifting gears. Patting the seat cushion pinched under his massive thigh, to demonstrate the location of the weapon.

"I guess, if an old coot like me can be afraid of these long lonesome highways; a little bitty girl like you can too!"

His years of experience showed, as Bobby shifted through the gears with scarcely a grind. Smoothly feeding power from the mighty diesel to the driving wheels, and accelerating the eighteen wheeler onto the freeway.

"Now look," he said, as he went back to concentrating on his driving. "You done got me sidetracked, a-sittin' there all nervous like that. See. What I was gettin' up to is this: If we should get pulled over by the troopers, you just shinny your little butt up into the sleeper as fast as you can, pull them covers up over your head, and lay there like you're sleeping. I'll do the talkin'."

He glanced in the drivers side rear view mirror, shot Mona a quick look of warning, and concluded, "If you don't we'll both be goin' to the jail house. If that happens, whoever you're runnin' from will be comin' for you, and Marguerite will have my hide. If they ever let me out, that is."

When Mona didn't reply, he ask, "We clear on that little miss?"

"Yes," Mona said, still hugging the door. Intent on keeping her distance. "I've done the drill before. Don't worry about me."

"Well all right then little Miss Experience!" Bobby retorted.

Seemingly angry, he drove a while without making further comment. Then, leaning over and nudging her on the shoulder with his elbow, chuckled and ask, "Are you gonna tell me your name then, 'old veteran of the highway,' or am I just gonna have to keep on guessin' 'till we get to California?"

Mona couldn't help smiling; she liked this crazy old man, "I'm not going to California. But my name is Mona."

______________________________

FIVE

Jack was not having a good day, and had not been since the night of the concert. Billy had disappeared somewhere between the theater and the hotel and now--almost three days later--his manager still did not know where he was. Other than the phone call on Saturday, he had not heard from his charge.

Now that he thought of it, Jack realized he had not been having a good day for quite a few years. In fact since he had met Billy Tomorrow. Who, back then, had been known to the world of bars and small time clubs he performed in as William Barrow. Jack had spotted the potential hidden in the boy, and the songs he had been singing, right off but knew to bring it out he would have to separate him from the cut rate musicians he had been using for a band at the time.

He had watched the lad for several weeks before approaching him and convincing him to sign Jack as his manager. It took a little doing to get him to leave his band behind, and even more persuasion to convince Billy he needed singing and dance lessons, but Jack had eventually got the other to see the merit in his suggestions, and the years of successful album sales which followed had proven him worthy of his job.

Billy's stage name had also come from Jack.

Everything Jack demanded of Billy was always answered by, "Can't it wait 'till tomorrow?" So Jack had begun calling him Billy Tomorrow and the name had stuck. All the way onto the covers of his albums.

Having spent enough time in the third floor lounge to calm his nerves, and gather what was left of his resolve to continue this insane tour, he had convinced himself would work--in addition to having been about to burst his bladder--Jack had headed for the washroom.

As he stood before the sink adjusting the water before washing his hands, Jack looked at himself in the mirror and thought: I had all my hair when I met that idiot, and what I had wasn't going gray. My blood pressure was normal, and I was happy.

Then, having finished his business there, he decided it was time to get back to work and left the lavatory. Looking for someone to cuss out.

Walking hurriedly down the ornate hallway, he had to dodge the people moving towards the lobby of the hotel with equipment and clothes, as he headed toward the suite of rooms the entourage had occupied for the last several days and were now abandoning in preparation for moving on to the next town and setting up for another show.

Having avoided a major collision long enough to navigate his way safely through the moving throng, Jack entered the Great Room of the suite and immediately spotted several of his people gathered at the bar and looking through some papers and discussing them quietly amongst themselves. He made his way through a team of roadies who were attempting to gather up the last of the equipment in the room without damaging the expensive vases and sculptures adorning the glass topped tables blocking their path.

Upon reaching their position he pulled out a stool and sat down between the two men standing with their backs to him. Waved aside the drink offered by the other, who was standing in back of the bar, and ask, "Have you located him yet Tom?"

Tom, the shorter of the three--although that was a relative description as all three were tall muscular men, attractive looking, with brown hair, apparently in their thirties, and all wearing the same serious expressions--looked up from the papers and replied, "Not yet, Jack. There're no addresses or phone numbers in his papers. So we know he didn't have anything prearranged. A couple of people we talked to said they saw him with a young girl they didn't know. That was just before we all left the theater."

Jack snapped his fingers and exclaimed, "Damn! I probably met her. He introduced me to some young blond thing he had picked up from somewhere. That was just before we left for the hotel. Fits in with what your witnesses said."

Tom looked at the other men for confirmation and then continued. "My best guess is they ducked out through the crowd as we were loading up to head back to the hotel. She must have had a car waiting in the parking lot."

Jack, realizing the situation was worse than he had feared (if Billy was with some local girl they could be anywhere) ask, "Is that all you've got? I mean, he had to have been seen somewhere. Everybody knows his face. Besides that, he can't keep his mouth shut, he likes to let everyone know who he is. Just in case."

One of the other men--he had just hired on at the start of this last tour and Jack wasn't sure but thought his name was Ted--replied, "Yes Sir. He was in several clubs downtown. Let's see...." He slid his hand inside his jacket and pulled a notebook from his pocket, flipping through the pages until coming to the entry he wanted. "That was night before last. Which would make it Saturday. Seems he even got on stage with one of the local bands for a few songs. Apparently he was with the girl who met him at the theater. Same description." Holding up his hands in frustration he concluded: "None of the people we talked to admitted to knowing her name Mr. Brenner. And after they left the second club there were no reports of anyone else spotting them."

"All right then," Jack said, resigning himself to the inevitable. "You three take one of the Limos and keep looking until you find him. When you do.... If he's not already dead, bring him to me; so I can kill him."

_____________________________________

SIX

Bobby had the cruise set on sixty five. He knew most of the other truckers on the road pushed it to the limit and beyond, but he was in no particular hurry. Spending your life on the road either slowed you down or left you a burned out pill popper. He never had been much on speeders and such. So for him the choice had been an easy one: Slow down or wind up in a heap of scrap metal, from pushing too hard and falling asleep at the wheel. Now he knew: Life went on a lot better when you took your time.

Turning his attention from the road for a moment, he looked across the cab of the truck at the little girl in the passenger seat who (despite her best efforts to the contrary) had fallen asleep with her head leaning up against the window. Having just thought of it, Bobby flipped the electric door lock down so the door wouldn't come open and let her fall out. It had never come open before; but why take chances?

"Well, Miss 'I know the ropes' Mona. I sure don't know what I'm going to do with you," he said to himself. "It certainly is a fine thing Marguerite isn't here to see the mess I've done got myself into this time."

Bobby had been traveling west on I-64, just across the Illinois line out of Evansville, when the girl had hitched a ride with him, and was now coming up on just an hour shy of reaching St. Louis. He guessed she was from Indiana by her accent, and reasoned Mona couldn't have been on the road more than a few days. Unless it was just coincidence she was passing through her home state.

When she had first approached him back at the truck stop Bobby had thought to himself that she looked out of place in that environment. She obviously wasn't a hooker, he could see that from his first glance. Over the years he had been accosted by many way side women at hundreds of truck stops across the country, and he could tell. This one was just a runaway; not a road urchin.

Bobby hated the state the world had brought itself to of late and thought to himself as he drove how grateful he was that he and Marguerite had never had any children. He just didn't know what he would do if he had to be on the road nowadays worrying and wondering, not being able to stay home and look out for them.

Still, he had concluded that she was more than just another spoiled little brat running from a mother and father who loved her but just didn't know how to do it right. The girl wasn't on drugs (if she was she'd be hookin') she was running from something more real than, "Nobody understands me." Yes sir; that little girl was sure scared of something, and mad as all get out to boot.

Bobby was jerked from his woolgathering when the steering wheel suddenly tried to spin itself out of his grip and he was shoved violently forward toward the windshield. Grabbing the wheel with both hands he fought to keep the truck under control as he realized the rear of his trailer was swinging into the left hand lane and trying to put the big rig into a slide.

He chanced a quick look at the chrome plated gauges lining the face of the dashboard and saw that he had lost all his air pressure to the trailer brakes. That explained it. The wheels on the back of the rig were locked up and she was trying to go end for end on him.

"Well old girl," he said to the truck. Still fighting the wheel, holding the mammoth vehicle in a straight line. "We'll just see about that. Old Bobby's got a trick or two of his own up his sleeve, you know."

Mona, awakened by the violent motions of the last few seconds, leaned forward and made a grab at the dashboard attempting to find a hand hold. Unsuccessful, she settled for leaning back against the seat again and holding on to the hand strap which hung down from the roof above the passenger window.

"What's going on Bobby? Who are you talking to?" she questioned, as the truck continued to walk itself from side to side, crossing back and forth between the two westbound lanes of the expressway.

"Now you just hang on tight girlie. Old Betsy here is giving me a might of trouble," Bobby said. Laughing as he did. "She done kicked her shoes off and wants to dance. I guess she don't know I took dancin' lessons years ago so's I could get out on the floor and not be an embarrassment to Marguerite."

He tapped the brake pedal with his toe, to shut off the cruise control, pushed the clutch in and down shifted. Then letting the wheels on the trailer--which were locked up tight--slow the rig down, dumping the clutch and feeding the big diesel engine a burst of power every now and then to jerk the trailer back in line, he began to ease the truck off onto the side of the road and bring it to a halt.

They would have made it without further incident had the trailer tires, now smoking and heated to the point of bursting into flame, held up a few moments longer. One by one, in rapid succession, they blew out, as the trailer slid to the right and went off the pavement. Ending up sitting at a slight angle to the cab of the truck as the entire rig came to rest half on and half off the road. Bobby shifted the truck into low gear and eased the trailer back up onto the pavement.

"And that, Miss Mona, just about puts an end to things. Marguerite knows I prefer to slow dance. I just guess Old Betsy ain't figured it out yet or we wouldn't have had this little argument and be sittin' here on the side of the road lookin' foolish. Her with her tail smokin' and me with my triple-A expired and needin' eight new tires," Bobby said with a sigh, as he shut down the engine.

After putting on his emergency flashers, he opened the door and climbed down. Opening the tool compartment on the drivers side of the cab, just under the sleeper, he removed several flares and began walking back up the highway. Once past the rear of the trailer, he began to light them and place them along the edge of the road.

___________________________________

SEVEN

Billy woke up with the worst hangover he could recall ever having experienced. He felt like someone had beat the hell out of him. His head hurt and his chest felt like a fat man was resting on it. It must have been a hell of a party, he thought, struggling to open his eyes.

As soon as he had taken a good look at his surroundings, he wished himself back asleep and dreaming. After a few seconds, however, he concluded this wasn't going to happen.

Billy had awakened in hospital rooms before and this one had all the earmarks of just such a room. There was a television mounted on the wall, about six feet up off of the floor, across from the bed he was in. There was a curtain hanging next to the head of the bed which, running in a track mounted in the ceiling, could be pulled around to isolate the bed from the rest of the room. The curtain had been left pulled open and he could see the empty bed next to the one he was in. And. Now that he thought about it, he could smell that distinctive smell all hospitals have. A sick/clean odor. Like the one that lingers in a room after someone had vomited, and it has been tidied up with a disinfectant cleanser.

This isn't good, he thought, as he felt around and checked himself for injuries.

Everything seemed to be in its proper place and he didn't hurt anywhere, other than the headache and the bruised feeling in his chest when he took a breath. Having taken a physical inventory and found himself to be pretty much intact he concluded that maybe it wasn't so bad after all. He knew that, if he hadn't missed the next concert, he could probably smooth things over with Jack. Once that was accomplished, all he would have to do was behave himself for a few more months until the end of the tour.

Hell, everyone had to let their hair down once in a while. He wasn't a Saint; Jack knew that.

Billy lay there, wondering what had happened. He didn't feel like he had overdosed or got some bad stuff. Could he have been attacked by a mugger? No. That couldn't be it. There weren't any knots on the back of his head. He might have fallen off a stage somewhere. He was always getting up with local bands when he was out in the clubs....

The door leading out of the room opened and a policeman walked in with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other. The officer glanced in Billy direction as he pushed the door closed with the heel of his foot, and turned to seat himself in the straight back chair, positioned next to the door, just inside the room. He leaned it back against the wall, put his cup of coffee down on the floor next to the chair and, without further acknowledging Billy's presence, began to silently read his paper.

Billy was suddenly no longer so much concerned with what had happened to him. He began to worry about what it was he might have done.

______________________________________

EIGHT

Mona had decided to get out of the truck and head down the road, or at least get out of sight, before the police arrived. As they were certain to do, with a broken down tractor trailer truck sitting there next to the freeway.

She was delayed by the door being locked.

Keeping an eye on the drivers door, she began to search for a way to unlock her side. Before she could find the mechanism, figure it out and get herself free of the truck, Bobby had his door open, knocked the dirt off of his boots and was climbing back up into the cab.

"Where you goin' to little sister?" he ask as he flipped on the CB, and tuned it to channel nine, before taking the microphone from its clip on the dash board.

She turned from her deliberation at the door and said, "If you'll show me how to open this thing, I'm going to get out of here before the police come. I don't think you'll have much luck explaining me to them." She gave the latch one final tug then sat back in resignation. "Besides that, I don't really want to talk to them right now. If you don't mind."

Bobby pointed, and said, "Well now; if you for sure want to go, just push down on that lever there next to the door handle. That'll unlock it. But there's no need of that Miss Mona, I think we can handle any company that comes along. So, if you still need that ride, you just stick around a while and trust old Bobby."

Then he turned back to the CB, brought the microphone to his lips, pressed the send button and called out: "Breaker channel nine. Come back. Over."

Then he sat and waited a moment until a sleepy voice answered. "I read you breaker. This is Highway Patrol Car twenty one, at mile marker six-three. What's your emergency? Over."

Bobby silently pursed his lips, as if making a shushing sound, and held his index finger up in front in front of them signaling Mona to keep quiet as he answered the officer.

"Well howdy there Smoky. Sorry to wake you boys this time of night, but me and my wife done broke down over here at marker nine-seven. We're sittin' on the side, in the west bound lane. Old Betsy (That's the truck. Not my wife.) she done threw the shoes off her hind legs. Now if you could oblige me, I sure could use a repair crew out this way sometime before sunup. Over."

The officer, sounding relieved that it wasn't something more serious answered, "Can do old timer. You're not blocking the road are you? Over."

"No sir," Bobby replied, flashing Mona a thumbs up gesture. "I got her off to the side nice and neat. Got my flares out too. I'm about to tuck the little woman up in the sleeper and let her catch forty. She was pushing the rig when we lost the tires, she's a might shook up right now. Over."

"Affirmative. You just hang tight and we'll get somebody on the way to you. Out."

Bobby gave Mona a sly wink, keyed the microphone and said, "We copy that Smoky. Out."

Mona, not having been around in the seventies during the heyday of the CB radio, was completely unfamiliar with the affected "Country Boy Speak" which had grown up among CB operators of the time and did not realize that, while the majority of those people using CB's still put on the act to fit in with the trucker crowd they met on the road, with Bobby there was no fakery. He was the genuine article. A true country boy.

"What was that all about?" she ask, no longer in a hurry to go anywhere. Now that she knew she could.

Bobby turned, slid back the curtain in front of the sleeper compartment and opened the small refrigerator built into the wall of that space. He removed two colas and some ham sandwiches wrapped in foil, handed Mona a sandwich and one of the pops, and said, "Here, you must be hungry by now. These are still fresh, I had the lady make 'em up for me last time I stopped for fuel. Just yesterday."

Already unwrapping a sandwich for himself he continued, "By the time we eat the repair crew should be here, and likely the smoky I talked to on the radio too. Then you're gonna have to get up in that sleeper and keep quiet. Most likely there won't be any questions as I already let the Cop's know there was gonna be someone in there sleeping, and since they think it's my wife they won't want to bother you none."

He laughed and told her, "Don't you worry. I've been running solo and keeping a double log for some time now. Marguerite never could drive, but she used to ride with me. Now, since she ain't here no more, I don't use no co-driver. Tried a couple of different fellows a few times. But none of 'em worked out."

Mona, having decided it wasn't going to do her any harm to stick around long enough to eat the offered food, settled back in her seat and ask, between bites of sandwich, "Why not? Were they bad drivers?"

Bobby said, "No. Some of them were drunks or pill heads, and the rest of 'em...well I just plain didn't like 'em. Didn't trust 'em. But everything worked out for the best anyway. I got a friend up in Kansas keeps my books for me. Freddie takes care of my taxes, fills out all my tickets, cleans up my logs and such at the end of each run and signs for my nonexistent partner. Normally I just run by my self with one log book, but if I'm in a real hurry then I double up and keep another log for the Smoky's."

Then, of a sudden, he took the heel of his free hand and popped himself in the forehead with it saying, "Now why didn't I think of that before! Freddie will know what to do."

"Do about what?" Mona ask.

"Why, about you of course!" Bobby replied. As if it were obvious.

"What do you mean, 'About me?'" Mona shot back. "I don't think you need to do anything about me! I can do 'about me' just fine. Thank you."

"Oh, I don't know about all of that," Bobby observed with concern. "Why don't you just think about it on the way to Kansas. You can make up your mind after you meet Freddie."

______________________________

NINE

Jack was employing his powers of persuasion to their fullest.

For the last hour, he had been trying to convince the representatives of Pen-Co Entertainment Inc. to change their minds about canceling the tour, and could still detect no softening in the stone faced expressions confronting him. Jack knew they were on the verge of cutting their losses, and leaving him to hold the bag.

Despite the air conditioning, the hotels conference room felt like a sauna. He had just spent months of his time, and most of his energy, negotiating the deal which had secured him enough financing to put this years tour together. Now it looked like the tour was about to fall flat on its face. His star attraction might not give a damn but Jack certainly did. His reputation was on the line, right along with Billy Tomorrow's!

Pen-Co Entertainment Inc. had made millions from the sale of Billy's records. But had never recouped a dime from his tours. Jack had lobbied for weeks before finally convincing them that, since Billy had not released any new material in almost two years, they needed the exposure a tour would bring, in order to ensure successful sales of his upcoming material. Now, with Billy having disappeared again, the top executives of Pen-Co had lost their nerve and were about to pull the plug.

He was damned if he would give up now. Looking nervously across the table at the three men who could, and had, make or break a performer--and his manager--he made one last attempt to placate them.

"I'll tell you what," he proposed. "We've got two more days until the next scheduled show...and that's in Des Moins. It's not that far away. You give me twenty four hours to find him and I'll have him on stage--sober--in time for the start of the show."

He took a deep breath before committing himself any further then said, "If I can't do that, I'll personally cancel the rest of the tour myself, and agree to reimburse you the expenses you've incurred up to this point. Out of Billy's profits on the next release," he hurriedly amended. "Is that a deal?"

Before any of the record executives he was addressing could reply, Jack's secretary came running into the room yelling, "Telephone call Jack. It's Ted. I think they've found Billy!"

Jack gave the men a pleading look. "Come on guys. That's a fair offer I've made you. Think about it and let me know. I'll be right back."

Already moving toward the door, he called to his secretary, "OK! Don't let him hang up. I'm on my way."

__________________________________

TEN

Mona felt the truck shift and wondered what in the world they were doing back there. Every once in a while she pulled the curtain back just enough to peek into the side mirror toward the rear of the truck, but all she ever saw were the flashing lights from the police car and the tow truck.

The State Police had arrived first, followed within a few minuets by the rescue vehicle which Bobby had called for them to send out. Once the officer on the scene decided it was safe, he let the repair crew begin changing the tires and repairing the brake line at the rear of Bobby's vehicle. Her worst scare had come when the Cop had climbed up to look inside the truck.

He had ask Bobby, "Got anything up there I want to look at old timer?"

Bobby replied with a chuckle, "Just Marguerite, and I don't think you want to see a sight like that this time of night. Especially if there's a full moon out."

"Well," the Cop persisted, ignoring Bobby's perverted humor, "I think I'll just take a look anyway. I've seen some pretty bad sights in fifteen years of patrolling this stretch of highway. I can probably handle it."

As the policeman climbed into the cab of the semi he called over his shoulder: "Since we're going to be here a while, why don't you just go ahead and get those log books out and let me have a look at them. Just to make sure they're up to snuff."

Mona hid her face under the covers and tried to look bigger than she was by bunching the pillow up in front of her stomach and sprawling out as Bobby had instructed her to. Then, expecting to be exposed at any second, she lay there trying to breath as if she were sleeping, while the trooper pulled the curtain back and looked inside the sleeper. Almost laughing aloud as she did, Mona managed to let out a convincing snore, startling the man so much he bumped his head jerking back out of the way.

The trooper left the door open when he climbed down, and she heard him tell Bobby, "That sure enough is a big noisy one you've got up there Pops. I'll bet she can handle this rig better than you can!"

Bobby answered, with an artificial note of pride in his voice. "You're right enough about that officer, but I sure do love the old woman, and I'd for damn certain put her up against anybody haulin' freight up and down the highway."

While he paused, as if out of delayed concern for his fictional wife, Bobby manufactured a memory to relate to the officer. "She sure had a tough time gettin' this here rig over to the side in one piece when them tires blew though. Yes sir. Thought she was gonna loose it there for a while."

The officer must have been reading through the entries in Bobby's forged log book; Mona heard him say, "Well your wife may be a fine driver old buddy but she isn't much on signing her entries in this book. It's a couple of days behind."

"Yes sir. I keep tellin' her about that, but Marguerite just ain't much on book work. I have to get on her just to have it done by the end of every run. Just don't seem to do much good though. She's set in her ways. You want me to wake her up and have her fill 'em out?" he ask, as if it were a spur of the moment idea.

Mona guessed the trooper must have been thinking it over when she didn't hear anything for a while. Then he said, "No. That's all right. Just make sure it's taken care of in the morning."

Bobby said enthusiastically, "Yes sir! I sure will do that, and don't you think I don't appreciate it, 'cause I do. Yes sir!"

The policeman remained on the scene a while longer Then, once it was apparent that there was no danger to traffic or the people on the side of the road, he departed. Another forty five minutes passed before the repair crew finished getting the truck back in running condition and departed, leaving Mona and Bobby once again alone on the dark highway. She stayed in the sleeper until Bobby had the big rig back up on the road.

Once more rapidly cruising west, he pulled the curtain back, and said, "Come on down from there Miss Mona. It's safe now." He silently guarded the gear shift as she climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck then continued talking, "You did just fine back there. I thought he had us for sure when that smoky climbed up to look in the sleeper. Then I about busted my britches when you let out that snore, and he banged his head trying to get down from there. Girl.... That sure was funny!"

Mona smiled, proud of herself, and said, "Yea. I was scared the whole time. But I really got nervous when he ask to look at your log book, and said it wasn't signed. I thought he was going to make you get me up to sign it."

"No," Bobby said. "I did that on purpose. See, if you don't give them State Boys something to find so they can cuss you out a little bit, or write out a warning ticket, why they'll just keep on looking 'till they find something they can nail you with."

Mona ask, "Yea, I suppose, but what if you're alone and running two logs and they want to look in the truck?"

"That's no problem," Bobby replied. "I just tell em up front that my partner took sick, and I had to leave him in the last town."

"It was even easier years back," he expounded. "When I was running without a CO-driver and got pulled over I'd just tell 'em he took drunk and I didn't want the damn fool in the truck with me. Them Smoky's like to hear things like that."

Getting into the spirit of telling trucker tales now, Bobby went on. Once in a while taking his eyes from the road long enough to look her way or lifting his hands from the wheel to emphasize a point. "I'll tell you what, as much as people think otherwise; most of the policemen I've had dealin's with would rather see the drunks kept off the road as to be out here arresting them and pickin' up the pieces when they finally kill themselves. Or someone else."

Mona, remembering the conversation which had taken place between the trooper and Bobby, changed the subject and said, "You've been talking about your wife since you picked me up. It sounded to me as if you really care for her."

It seemed to Mona that she detected a strange sadness come through in his voice when Bobby replied. "I do Miss Mona. I surely do."

"Then why were you talking so mean about her to that Cop?" she ask.

"Why honey. I wasn't sayin' not one bad thing about Marguerite. No sir. I wouldn't do that at all! I was just paintin' a picture for that trooper. Gettin' him to look at it real good in his imagination. So he would already know what he was gonna see before he even looked up there where you was hidin'. That way he didn't pay no attention. He didn't think he had to look, he'd already seen it in his mind so he knew what was there!" Bobby said. Defending himself, while touting his own cleverness at the same time.

"People are like that you know. They see what they want to see half the time, not what is really in front of them," he informed her.

Having started the conversation just to tease her new friend, Mona was now struck by her own sadness. As his words hit home, she remembered why it was that she was sitting in this truck with Bobby in the first place. Heading west. Away.

"Yea," she said. "I know. My mother was like that with her husband. She didn't want to see the things that went on in our house. So, to her, they weren't happening."

Bobby hurriedly interjected. "Now honey, you don't have to talk about none of that if you don't want to. I ain't ask you nothin' about what you're doin' out here on the road. I guess it ain't none of my business."

"That's OK," Mona said. "I don't mind."

Once she started talking, the words seemed find their own way out of her mouth. Perhaps it was because she was talking to someone who had probably seen just about everything there was to see, and met about every kind of person there was at one time or another, in his travels up and down the highway. Someone she thought would listen to her and not judge or disbelieve. Not like her relatives, or the social workers. Or. Maybe it was because she thought it wouldn't matter, as she would never see this man again after she got out of his truck.

Maybe she just needed to talk to somebody about it, and Bobby was the one who happened to have an available ear.

"Even when I was just a baby--three or four years old--the old man would do things. He would wait for me to get into something, like messing with the knick knacks on the bookcase or something, then he would hit me. I don't mean smack my hand or paddle me, he would hit me hard. I was always covered with bruises." She looked at Bobby once to see what his reaction was, but he was studiously watching the road ahead.

Turning back to face the side window, eyes unfocused aware of but not actually seeing the countryside blur past in the half light of near dawn, she continued talking: "When people would ask about my bruises, my mother would tell them that I was a clumsy child. That I was always falling down. Or bumping into things."

She laughed at that. "Anyone who was around me any time at all had to know she was lying; they could have seen for themselves that I didn't do those things. No one wanted to know what was going on."

"I learned to avoid him," she said. "But, as I got older, that became harder to do. He seemed to want to be around me all the time. Everybody said to my mother how nice it was that he wanted to spend time with me, and do things that a lot of fathers didn't do for their own daughters. They didn't know, or didn't want to know, what was really going on.

"When he wasn't hitting on me, or threatening to if I told anyone, he was trying to touch me in other ways. When I was younger I didn't really know what he was doing, but as I got older I figured it out and I knew it wasn't the kind of things my friends fathers did to them. I couldn't do anything to stop him, so I started running away; but they always caught me and brought me back."

Bobby glanced over and, noticing that the girl was wiping tears from her cheeks as she spoke, offered some consolation. "Well now honey. That's all over. You don't have to live in that place anymore. Looks to me like you got clean away this time."

"A lot of good that's going to do," Mona said bitterly. "I can't go to school and I can't get a job, because I'm too young. If I tried to do either the police would find me and send me back to the girls home I ran away from."

"Girls home?" Bobby questioned. "What on earth were you doing in a girls home?"

"Oh," Mona said. "Last year--when I was fifteen--the old man finally moved on, from getting drunk and trying to fondle me, to out right attempting to rape me. I took a baseball bat I had hidden in my room and smashed his head in with it."

She waited for Bobby to comment but when he said nothing she continued her story. "I thought at first I had killed him. I guess I panicked. I didn't even check to make sure. I just left him lying there in the floor of my bed room." Remembering, Mona laughed, but from the sound of it she wasn't laughing at something which had struck her as funny. Her laughter was tinged with a touch of irony. "I had to step over him to get to my dresser and when I did I kept thinking the whole time he was going to come alive and grab my ankle. Like the killers always do in the movies. After they've been lying there for a while and you're certain they're not getting up again," she said, turning again to look at Bobby. Checking to see if he understood what she was talking about. "You know. Just when you think you've finally killed the monster and are safe at last, he always comes back to life and then.... Well. You just have to kill him all over again."

She took a deep breath and held it in for a second, before letting it all out at once. As Bobby let go of the wheel, and reached over to pat her hand in sympathy,

Mona went on with her story. "So the whole time I was getting my things out of the dresser drawers, I kept waiting for him to grab me or something, and thinking what would I do if he did. But when he didn't that was just as bad in a way, because the longer he just laid there the more I thought I had actually killed him, and then I really didn't know what to do. So I just grabbed up all of my stuff and ran away."

Bobby, both of his hands back on the wheel, and his eyes looking ahead down the road, hoping it was the right thing for him to do, agreed with her actions. "You did the right thing Miss Mona. I don't mean hittin' him with the bat. I imagine at the time it seemed the only way out, but I wasn't there so I can't say one way or the other. No. I mean getting out of there. I guess, if it was as bad as you say, that was for sure the right thing to do."

He reasoned that the girl must not have been able to talk to anyone else about this, and from the way she had just opened up and began telling him about it--it was obvious to Bobby--the girl needed to share her thoughts with someone. So, more to get her talking again than because he really wanted to hear about anybody being abused like that, Bobby ask, "What happened after that?"

"I don't know for sure," Mona said. "I guess when my mother came in from work she must have called the Cop's, and an ambulance. I didn't get very far before the police had me again. Only this time they didn't take me home; they arrested me. That was the best thing to happen I suppose, because after I found out the old man was still alive, and when I got through talking to the psychiatrist and the prosecutor, they filed charges against him for child abuse, and charged my mother with neglect. Then they put me in this home for disturbed girls, until they could figure out what to do with me.

"That didn't work out too well either," she noted. "Most of the girls in there were really just underage criminals. From thieves, to drug users, and drug sellers. Or worse. Anyway. I didn't fit in too well there either. Most of the girls were sneaking out to meet men, or outright bringing them into the home. The last night I was there, one of the security guards tried to seduce me. Maybe he had tried it before with some other girls, and got away with it, I don't know. I turned him in to the House Mother the next morning, but she didn't believe me, so I ran away from there too. And here I am," she concluded.

Bobby drove on in silence for a while, then said, "Like I said before Miss Mona, you're clean away from all of that now, and you won't have to go back if you don't want to. When we get to Kansas, Freddie will know what to do."

Mona turned and looked at him again, about to comment on the subject, when Bobby gave her a big reassuring smile and startled her by saying, "I'm certain she'll know what to do. Freddie is a real smart woman."

"Freddie is a woman?" Mona ask, once it hit her exactly what he had said.

"Well sure she is, at least she has been ever since I've known her. I thought I told you that," he said.

"No," she replied. "When you said you were going to Kansas to meet someone named Freddie, I thought it was another truck driver friend of yours or something. The only reason I didn't say anything is that I was trying to get to Colorado and Kansas is on the way there."

"Now isn't that a coincidence," Bobby commented facetiously.

Not catching the humor, Mona replied seriously, "That's what I thought, but I wasn't going to question my luck. I just figured that I would ride as far as I could with you. That sure would save a lot of time and trouble."

"I guess it would at that," Bobby said.

Then he ask, "So what's in Colorado that you would want to go there for?"

Mona hesitated, longer than he thought the question called for, before replying. "There's a guy up there I want to find. It's very important to me."

"Aaa!" Bobby commented, thinking he knew what she meant. "Well, I guess you can work that out when you get there; if it really is so important. Right now I'm hungry."

The sun was fully risen by this time, and they had almost reached St. Louis.

Bobby looked at his watch, and said, "We're gonna be comin' up on a truck stop that's got a real good cook workin' this time of the mornin'--unless he quit or got fired since the last time I passed this way--in about ten minutes. When we get there, you can go into the ladies room and freshen up, and I'll order us up a couple of good country breakfasts. How's that sound?"

"That's fine," Mona responded. "But I don't have very much money left, and I'll probably need it later. Besides. Maybe I shouldn't be seen traveling with a truck driver. Somebody might ask questions."

"Now don't you worry about that young lady. We're going to walk right on into that truck stop and Bobby McGraw is gonna pay for breakfast for himself, and the lovely Miss Mona, and if anyone has anything to say about it we'll just tell them to buzz off."

Mona had to laugh at his round about way of telling her he would pay for breakfast. "OK Bobby. I'll let you pay, if it will make you feel better."

_______________________________________

ELEVEN

Ted drove east on Pacific street until the limo came to the intersection with 19th., which ran north and south. He made a left turn at the light, drove north and pulled in at the entrance to the Methodist Hospital.

As the car came to rest before the doors of the main lobby, he turned to face the rear passenger seat, and ask, "Do you want me and Tom to come up with you Mr. Brenner?"

"No," Jack said. "I don't think Billy is going anywhere. Between the man you've got watching him and the Omaha police, I'd say he's tied down pretty good for now."

He motioned for the men to stay in the car and said, before closing the door, "You fellows go on and get something to eat. If Billy is in any condition to travel, and the police will let me get him out of here today, we're going to be driving straight to Des Moins from the hospital. We might not have time to eat later."

Ted agreed. Adding, "OK Mr. Brenner. We'll get something for you to eat in the car. Just in case."

Jack stepped slowly out of the elevator on the fifth floor of the Methodist Hospital, trying to compose himself before going to Billy's room. Screaming at Billy was a waste of time, and Jack knew this. If Billy wanted to listen to, and heed, your advice he did. Otherwise; he did as he damned well pleased, and did not seem to comprehend that there might be unpleasant consequences to face, as a result of his actions.

This was far from the first time Jack had to follow behind Billy, using money and political influence to undo the messes he had left in his wake--many of which bordered on tragedy--while Billy seemingly unconcerned for, or unable to fathom, that other people had desires, feelings and the basic right to live their lives unburdened by the willful behavior of Billy Tomorrow, laughed it off as just another day in the life of a rock star. This time Billy had crossed that border. He had devastated the lives of those he had swept up into his tornado infested world.

After some searching through the hospital corridors, he eventually located room five-thirteen (good thing he wasn't superstitious) and knocked on the door.

A uniformed officer from the Omaha Police Department opened the door on the first knock. Looking alert, with his hand hovering near the butt of his holstered thirty eight special, he stated, "Sorry Sir, but no one is allowed in this room, except the Doctor and Staff Nurses. I think you should check at the desk and make sure you have the correct room."

Jack held up his hand to prevent the policeman from closing the door, and replied, "My name is Jack Brenner. I'm Mr. Tomorrow's Manager. I believe, if you will check your list of names, you'll find mine is on it."

Keeping his eye on Jack while doing so, the officer turned to where he had been sitting, while reading a magazine and drinking his coffee. He picked up a clip board from where it had been lying on the table and flipped through the pages until he came to a list of names.

Reading down the list he found Jack's name. Then said, "Aaa...yes. Here you are Mr. Brenner. If you can just show me some identification, I'll let you in to see the patient." Jack took out his wallet and, after showing the policeman his drivers license, walked into the room to confront Billy. He took a good look at the other man and determined that, to the unaided eye at least, Billy didn't appear to be seriously injured. Jack wasn't sure whether he should be glad or disappointed. He was relieved Billy would probably be able to perform and, hopefully, complete the rest of the tour. All the same, he was sorry to see that the unfeeling ass wasn't suffering a little bit more as a result of his own irresponsible actions.

As Jack was about launch a tirade against Billy his cell phone rang. Taking it from his pocket, he flipped it open and pressed the talk button.

"Hello. Jack speaking," he said.

The caller answered, "Mr. Brenner? This is Ted. I'm down at the front desk."

"What is it Ted?"

"There's an attorney here who wants to speak to you. He said a firm called Verril, Lynch and Steinbach contacted him and ask him to act for them to represent Billy. Is it OK to send him up."

Relieved that the law firm he kept on retainer had responded so quickly, and already had someone from the area representing Billy, Jack said, "Yes Ted. Please do. I called them this morning and ask them to get someone for me."

He started to hang up, then quickly added, "Oh Ted, tell him it's room number five-thirteen. And thanks Ted. You and Tom have been a big help. I won't forget it."

"Yes sir. You're welcome Mr. Brenner." Finally, Jack turned his attentions on Billy who had, up till now, simply lain in his hospital bed smiling. Seemingly, with nothing to say in his own defense.

Jack said, "You might as well get that smug lookin' grin off of your face funny boy. You're in too far to laugh your way out this time. I'll be lucky if I can keep you out of jail long enough to finish the tour."

Before the other could reply he continued: "And just so you know. If I can keep you out of jail, you are going to complete this tour. I'm not going to cancel this one, like I had to do the last three, because you ended up in a hospital somewhere, or stoned out of your mind in the Bahamas, when you were supposed to be on stage."

"Oh come on Jack. It's just a tour. We make a thousand times more money off of record sales, with a tenth of the work!" Billy retorted. Attempting to sit up in the bed unassisted, but giving up when the effort increased the ache in his chest until it became a stinging pain.

Jack laughed at him. "Not this time Buddy! If you back out of this one you're footing the entire bill. The record company is going to cancel your contract if you don't."

Billy, now trying to elevate the bed, felt about for the control button which had fallen off the side of the mattress. Then after a few unsuccessful attempts to locate it, angry enough by then not to care, he ignored the pain and raised himself up on his elbows, sat up in the bed, swung his feet over the side.

"How could you agree to something like that!" he yelled.

Jack smugly replied, "I didn't agree to it at all. I insisted on it. That was the only way I could get the record companies executives to change their minds about dropping you on the spot."

Jack shook his head in amazement and began to pace the room. "You just don't get it do you Billy?" he said, incredulous at the singers irrationality. "People are dead you stupid idiot. You're about to go to jail!"

_________________________________

TWELVE

The truck was gone when Mona came out of the restaurant. She wasn't all that surprised, and at first it did not bother her. Then she realized that her possessions were still in the sleeper compartment, behind the cab of Bobby's Peterbuilt. Everything she owned in this world.

"Damn!" she cursed. Then, wishing the missing trucker was there to hear, said to herself, "Bobby. All you had to do was tell me to get out. It's no big deal. I could have caught another ride."

She sat down on one of the wooden benches--which all had price tags on them--arrayed under the awning, which ran the length of the boardwalk in front of the country style buffet eatery.

Well, she thought as she sat there, alone again, depressed, and wondering what her next move should be, at least I still have my money and my gun. I'm glad I didn't leave my purse in the truck along with everything else. Thank goodness for having to comb your hair, or I wouldn't have taken that in with me.

Thinking of having the gun in her possession reminded her of how she had acquired it in the first place. It had been only the third day of Mona's life on the road. She had left the home in Columbus, intending to head south until she got to Louisville, where her Aunt Elaine lived.

*

Mona, knowing she would be better able to evade the police if she steered clear of the main highways, had begun to travel down old US 31, which she had seen on the map she bought ran all the way to Louisville, Kentucky. After spending the better part of her time walking for the first two days on her trip, and spending both nights barely sleeping, huddled beneath viaducts, Mona had made it only as far as Scottsburg.

There was plenty of traffic passing in both directions. She deduced the reason she wasn't getting a ride was either that she didn't know how to hitchhike properly or, perhaps, she simply looked too young and passers by were afraid to pick her up for that reason.

She went into a fast food restaurant and used the ladies room to take care of the age department. Putting on some make-up, and stuffing toilet paper in her bra in an attempt to make herself look a little older, she then went back out to the highway and began honing her technique. It must have worked, for not fifteen minutes after she was once more on the road, with her thumb extended, an eighteen wheeler stopped to pick her up. As she climbed into the cab of the truck the driver, a rangy looking man in his thirties, leered at her and ask, "Where you headed to honey?"

Mona, more than a little apprehensive, she had hitched rides with people in cars before but never with a trucker, replied, "I'm on my way to my aunts house in Louisville."

When the man smiled (if that was what he was doing) she noticed that some of his front teeth were missing, and the ones he still had didn't look too healthy.

"That's just fine," he said. "I'm going to cut over to I-65. That's right up ahead at the next exit, so we'll be there in no time. I guess you got lucky babe. If I hadn't just picked a load up back in Austin, I wouldn't even be running on old-31." He presented her with another grin, which she wished he would stop doing, and said, "Yea, I don't like running on these old roads. It might have been good enough for Grandpa and his old jalopy, but these big trucks we drive today were made for the expressways. We'll be in Louisville (pronouncing it Loo-ee-ville) in about an hour," he said. Then just sat there grinning, and singing along with the country station on the radio. Mona didn't know which was worse: The noise coming from the radio, or his singing.

It had already been late when she finally caught the ride, and the sun went down a few minutes after the trucker picked her up. Mona was at least glad to be out of the weather. Even though it was June, the nights were still cold; especially when you were sleeping outside. They had only been on the highway for about thirty minutes when the trucker said--in what Mona figured now was the only one he had--a disgusting manner, "There's a rest stop coming up in a mile or so. I'm gonna pull in and drain the lizard, so if you gotta use the little girls room go ahead and do it there, 'cause I won't be stopping after that until I get to Louieville."

Mona, after being in the truck with him for only a few short minutes, had already become nauseated by the man's presence. She thought to herself that if it wasn't already dark she would get out at the rest stop, and try to catch another ride.

She said, "No. That's all right. I just used the ladies room at Scottsburg. I'll wait in the truck."

"Suit yourself," the driver replied, as he pulled into the truck parking area of the rest stop. "I'm gonna leave the engine running, so don't touch anything while I'm gone," he told her as he climbed down from the truck and headed for the public building sitting in the center of the well manicured grounds. Situated between the truck lot and the passenger car parking area.

Mona had never been inside one of these big trucks before. As soon as the driver was gone, she began to look about herself, examining the interior of the cab. The dash board, covered with gauges and controls which she could not have deciphered the meaning of without assistance, held her interest for only a moment.

Noticing the curtain hanging behind the seats, she pulled it back, and discovered another compartment. Inside was a bed, directly above which were several small cabinets mounted on the rear wall. At one end of the space was a shelf with a small television bolted to it. She decided that a person could practically live in this truck if they wanted to. Mona began opening the cabinet doors, curious as to what the uncouth driver of the truck might keep inside, finding about what she had expected. Clothes shoved unfolded in piles and, judging from the accompanying smell, unwashed as well.

She was about to close the door of the last cabinet she looked in, when she spotted the gun. At first she didn't want to touch it. The pistol was shoved beneath a stack of T-shirts and underwear, which Mona was--from the condition of the rest of the spaces contents--inclined to believe were likely infested with some kind of disease or another. Then she reasoned: If this trucker were any example of the kind of men she was going to meet on the road, she was going to need a gun sooner or later. Looking through the drivers window, to make sure the man wasn't returning, she quickly took the pistol and put it into the pocket of her Jean-jacket. Before guilt could convince her to put it back, she told herself she had probably done the right thing by taking it in any event. It might prevent this repulsive man from harming some innocent person with it in the future.

No sooner than Mona had replaced the contents of the sleeper, as much like she had found them as she could--she didn't think it really mattered--and pulled the curtain back across the opening, the trucker opened the door and climbed up into the cab.

"You weren't in here messin' with my stuff were you?" he ask sarcastically. As if the garbage he had in his truck were any more valuable than himself.

"No," Mona replied, quietly wishing he had taken a little longer to return. She had about decided to get out while she could, take her chances with the dark, and whoever else came along that she might hitch a ride from. This man was beginning to frighten her; he was obviously an animal.

Before she could open the door, he had the rig rolling forward. She thought he was heading back up onto the highway, and relaxed a little, deciding to wait after all. She could get out when they came to Louisville. He couldn't harm her while he was concentrating on driving the truck; could he? She experienced a sudden foreboding when, instead of pulling into the entrance ramp and heading for the road, the man turned the truck toward the back of the parking lot, where there were other similar vehicles lined up alongside each other in the dark.

"What are you doing," she ask apprehensively, not caring at all for the thought of being alone in the dark with this man in a truck stop. Or anywhere else for that matter.

"I changed my mind," he said. "I'm gonna get some shut eye. I been pushin' all day, and this is the last rest stop 'til after the other side of Louieville. I don't want to be sleepy while I'm tryin' to drive through all that traffic in the city."

"In that case, you can just let me out here," she said. "I'll hitch another ride. I want to get to my aunts house tomorrow."

The trucker ignored her demand, continuing to drive until he had pulled the truck in next to the trees growing along the darker section of the parking area. He turned the key and as the trucks big diesel engine rumbled to a stop he turned in his seat, presenting her with another of his semi-toothless grins.

"Well now honey. Don't you worry yourself none about that," he said. Pulling back the curtain in front of the sleeper, and patting the bed with his filthy looking hand. He grinned at her once again, only this time it had more of the aspects of a sadistic leer. "You just climb up here with me. We can fool around a little bit, then catch a couple of hours sleep. I'll have you in Louieville before sunup. That's a promise."

Mona, slipping her hand inside her jacket and locating the new found security of the gun, said, "I don't think so buddy. I wouldn't fool around with you even if you weren't a pervert! But you are; so it doesn't matter."

His hand shot from its place on the bed, like a striking snake. Catching her by the upper arm, he began to pull her across the seat, intent on shoving her up into the sleeper compartment.

As he did, he said, "Now honey. I can see you're under age. And. You're probably a runaway to boot. Either you do what I tell you, or I'll call the state boys on my CB, and just drag your skinny little behind over to the pavilion and hold you there 'till they come for you. I don't think that's what you want; now is it?"

Mona, the upper half of her body shoved into the sleeper, with her face smothered against the rank smell of the beds mattress, was becoming really terrified now. She kicked out with her legs, pushing her attacker away long enough to scramble the rest of the way into the compartment, and turn herself around.

With her back firmly against the cabinet doors, and her legs braced against the bed, intent on facing him down, she pulled the gun from her pocket. Before he could untangle himself from the steering wheel and take it from her, Mona pointed the pistol at his head, cocked the hammer back and threatened: "If you make one more move toward me I'll shoot you! I swear I will."

__________________________________

THIRTEEN

The attorney arrived at the room a few minutes after Jack had spoken to Ted on the phone. He was a tall handsome man, with chestnut hair and deep brown eyes. His smile was one of those which could instill immediate trust. From his confident manner, as he walked into the room, you could tell that he was generally successful with that smile. That, in the mind of whomever he chose to use it on, he soon became an icon of honesty. That he was a winner.

The lawyer at once pinpointed Jack as the one person in the room at whom he should aim his friendly weapon on this occasion. He crossed from the door, ignoring the policeman, as if he were simply another fixture common to hospital rooms, commandeered Jack's hand, and shook it vigorously.

"Dennis Blakeman. Attorney At Law," the man said eagerly. "May I offer you my card sir?"

Jack was usually immune to the enthusiasms of others. He had enough energy and drive that the force of his own personality generally overrode the meager desires of those around him. Still, he was instantly caught up in the aura which surrounded this man and responded heartily to his greeting.

As he took the proffered card he said, "Nice to meet you Mr. Blakeman. Bob spoke highly of you on the phone, and said I was to put my faith in your services, as if he were here himself."

The other man's smile grew even broader with the delivery of this acclamation, and he replied, "That would be Mr. Lynch I presume. The Attorney from Denver who called this morning and ask me to act for him in your behalf." Then nodded his head up and down heartily, to affirm the sincerity of his next statement. "I do not take his praise lightly, he is with a very reputable firm. Well known across the country. I sir feel complimented to be in your employ; especially as an agent of Mr. Lynch."

Jack smiled, and ended the round of mutual back slapping between them, by saying, "Yes. Mr. Blakeman, I would assume as much. I have employed that particular firm for some years now and would not expect them to assign anyone to my services unless they were of an exceptional ability."

He turned from facing the attorney and pointed toward Billy, who was still sitting on the bed, digesting the last statement Jack had made to him: That he was on his way to jail. "I think Mr. Blakeman that, in my associate here, you will find ample test of your abilities as an attorney," Jack said.

Throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of disgust, and even though the other had been in earshot of their entire conversation, he nevertheless introduced Billy to his new attorney. "I would like you to meet Mr. Billy Tomorrow--who may not have too many of them left to him, if he continues to live the lifestyle he currently enjoys. He has thwarted justice in just about every state in this country--at considerable expense I might add--but he may just possibly be about due for some just deserts after this last episode of--" "Ahem," Blakeman interrupted, pointing over his shoulder toward the policeman standing next to the still open door. "I don't believe we should continue this conversation until we have a little more privacy Mr. Brenner." He lifted both hands in a gesture calling for restraint, and bowing his head slightly to ask indulgence, turned to address the police officer.

"Excuse me officer...Phillips," he said, reading the man's name-tag as he spoke. "I need to speak with my clients alone. What we are about to discuss is confidential attorney client information. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave the room."

The policeman started to object. Then, under the influence of that ever-present smile--which surreptitiously, managed to indicate threat, while outwardly remaining a pleasant enough expression--thought better of it.

"Just a moment sir. Let me call in to the desk sergeant, and see what he wants me to do," Phillips replied.

Blakeman nodded agreeably, "Certainly. We have no intention of interfering with your duties."

The police officer removed the handset of his radio from the shirt collar of his uniform, pressed the send button, and said, "Headquarters. This is Officer 163 at the Methodist Hospital. Requesting instructions."

"Desk." The reply came back. "What's the situation."

"I'm holding a patient here in protective custody," Phillips stated. Looking in Billy's direction, as if to make sure he was still there on the bed. "His attorney is present, and wants to talk to him in private. What's the procedure?"

"Is that you Phillips?" the desk sergeant questioned, through the speaker of the radio. "Yes Sir."

"Thought I recognized your voice. This is Pete. As long as you can secure the suspect, I don't see any problem. Just handcuff him to the bed; if it won't hurt him. But hang by outside the door, so you can get the cuffs off of him, in case there's a medical emergency.... You copy that?"

The policeman, still looking at Billy, smiled as if anticipating any possible resistance he might attempt, and replied. "Yes sir, I think we can manage...."

Billy wasn't too thrilled about being cuffed to the bed, but at the moment he was the only one overly concerned about the happiness of Billy Tomorrow.

"So what's the deal Jack?" he ask, impatiently, when the officer had left the room. "All I did was get together with some people for a little party. Kind of doin' some public relations work; you know?" he drawled. Doing his best W.C. Fields imitation, which Billy thought was quite good, but which never seemed to have the desired affect on his audience. "You ought to thank me."

Jack turned on him angrily, now thoroughly fed up with the antics and attitudes of the younger man. "Billy. What I should do is kill you on the spot! That would put you, and everyone around you, out of your mutual miseries."

He turned to Dennis Blakeman, as a last refuge from his own emotions. "You see this fool sitting here before you on the bed? Do you know what he was doing with his life when I met him? He was singing in low life bars. Drinking himself into oblivion every night, and basically being a pain in the rear to everyone he knew. Since that time, he has been graced with everything in life that most people imagine is what they would desire. He has more money than even he can throw away. People circle about him as if he were some kind of royal prince. Women throw their selves at him indiscriminately. He lives in a beautiful house, in one of the most scenic parts of Colorado. And. Despite all of this. He has no respect, or regard, for life whatsoever."

Jack turned back toward Billy, gestured as if he were about to spit on him, and continued his tirade. "This man has been gifted with a talent that lets him reach out and touch the hearts and minds of people. Make them feel--for the brief moments they are a part of his songs--that life has become just a little grander, is filled with more richness and meaning than it was a heartbeat ago."

He pointed his finger accusingly toward Billy, while questioning the attorney, as if he were an inquisitor demanding answers from a victim stretched upon the rack. "Do you know what the jerk does with all of these blessings he's been given...? No; of course you don't! But, you are about to learn and, once you have, you'll likely wish you had never agreed to defend him. Because he's indefensible. He spends his time trying to kill himself, and anyone else stupid enough to let him touch them with his evil."

Blakeman took hold of Jack's forearm, led him to the chair where the police officer had been sitting earlier, and sat him down in it. "Now then Mr. Brenner. I don't believe, as much as you would like to indulge in these emotional recriminations, that it will benefit any one involved for you to do so."

He then directed his comments toward Billy. "I can, after having read the brief your Mr. Lynch faxed to my office this morning, totally sympathize with Mr. Brenner's feelings toward your person at this moment. However, as your attorney, I can not allow myself to indulge in any such behavior, and indeed must prevent your associate from so doing. If possible."

Blakeman walked behind the dividing curtain, where it was bunched together in the corner and pulled the chair from next to the other bed, then sat down and opened the briefcase which he had been holding in his left hand since entering the room.

"Now," he stated, as he laid a sheaf of papers out on the bed in front of him. "I've had a rather hectic morning, but I do believe everything necessary has been taken care of." He glanced at his watch, and continued. "My assistant should be calling in a short while, to let us know that bond has been posted, and then it will simply be a matter of getting Mr. Tomorrow released from the hospital. Which should take only a few minutes."

Looking over at Jack, Blakeman laughed aloud and said, "As much as they may claim otherwise; the staff of this hospitals primary concern is ensuring that payment will be made, before they allow a patient to depart the premises. I don't foresee any difficulty in that regards. So...."

Sorting through the papers arrayed before him, he extracted several sheets and handed them to Billy. "If you will just sign where I have placed the X's Mr. Tomorrow, all we need do is await notification of your release and you can be on your way. Of course," he added, making certain that Billy was paying attention (in the eventually that there was a court date and the singer failed to show, the attorney could honestly swear that he had so instructed his client), "you will have to appear back here in person should official charges be filed and a court date set."

"When will that be?" Jack ask from his seat across the room.

"Oh, not for at least several weeks, and possibly never. If there are no charges filed."

"How could there not be any charges filed against him? Billy was removed unconscious from behind the wheel of a car containing two dead bodies, and a bag full of illegal drugs. Not to mention the property damage he did to the peoples house when he drove the car through their front door!" Jack exclaimed.

"What!" Billy shouted from the bed.

"Shut up Billy. We're talking about you; not to you," Jack ordered the singer, without looking in his direction or moving from his position in the chair next to the door.

"Well now," Blakeman said. "No one has proven he was driving the car. There aren't any witnesses who actually saw him at the wheel. He could have ended up where he was found by the police as a result of the impact. In addition, it is not his car."

He again picked up some papers and glanced through them. "Let me see.... The vehicle was registered to one Lisa Goodman; who's body was found next to Billy in the front seat of the car. She could very well have been the driver. "As for the drugs," he said. "They were in the possession of the passenger in the rear seat. On his person in fact. That means Mr. Tomorrow can reasonably state that they were not his, and that he had no knowledge of the other persons intentions as to the eventual dispersal of the drugs. In other words: He was not involved in any attempt to sell or otherwise distribute an illegal substance. Although there was evidence, found in blood samples taken from my client, of his having been using various drugs the night of the accident, that is not a serious crime. Also, these tests were taken without his permission or knowledge--he was unconscious at the time--unless I'm mistaken, proper procedure was not followed during the testing. If it comes to that, I can probably get the tests ruled inadmissible for presentation in court as evidence."

He smiled smugly in Jack's direction. "No one really wants to prosecute Mr. Tomorrow. I don't know much about the history of girl involved but, from what the police have told me, the other man in the car was a known drug dealer. They're glad he's off the streets. The only problem we might face here is the possibility of civil suits and, if we offer enough of a cash settlement, we might just as well be able to avoid that eventuality."

Just then the cell phone in Blakeman's brief case began to ring. He lifted it, pushed the talk button and placed it to his ear.

After listening in silence for several moments he said, "Thanks Chuck...No that will be all I need from you today...Right...OK...Yes I couldn't agree more. See you at the office tomorrow. Good-bye.

"There. That takes care of everything," he assured the two men in the room with him. Then speaking to Jack. "Mr. Brenner. All we need do now is get the policeman to step back in the room, and call his precinct house and confirm that Mr. Tomorrow is free to go. After that he may get dressed and depart. If you wish I will personally attend to the formalities with the hospital staff."

Jack, truly impressed with the efficiency of the young attorney, said, "I do appreciate your thoroughness Mr. Blakeman. I'm tempted to fire my lawyers, and hire you to take their place!"

Blakeman laughed, and replied, "No. I wouldn't do that if I were you. I probably appear more effective to you than I actually am. You see. I'm a big frog in a little pond here. I don't imagine I would last very long out in the ocean, among the sharks."

________________________________________

FOURTEEN

The truck driver, having worked himself loose from the steering wheel, paused long enough to size up the situation. Then, realizing the girl actually did have a gun, he took a closer look and, recognizing the weapon, figured out where she had acquired it.

"Hey! That's my gun you little slitch. You were going through my stuff while I was gone!" he yelled at her, then made a grab for the gun. "I'm gonna hurt you real good now--"

As the man's hand came forward Mona, not realizing she had done so until after the event, pulled the trigger. Like so many people today who have never been exposed to firearms, except the ones they saw demonstrated so unrealistically on video screens and at movie theaters, she was totally unprepared for the violence of a real life gunshot.

Although the events transpired in a single split second, they seemed to occur in slow motion. In the confines of the cab the sound from the explosion was deafening. The pistol attempted to tear itself from her grip, as it recoiled in her hands. The bullet grazed the truck drivers palm, passing through the visor above the window, and embedding itself in the thick padding covering the inside roof of the drivers compartment.

The would be rapist collapsed back into his seat muttering in shock, "....shot me! You shot me with my own gun!" He looked at Mona, aghast, whining now, suddenly no longer the bully, "How could you do a thing like that? I wasn't gonna hurt you. I just wanted us to have a little fun. That's all."

Mona, recovering from the unexpected power of the pistol, managed to get it pointed once again in his direction, and said, "I am having fun, and I'll do it again if you make me. I won't shoot you in the hand next time either, you piece of garbage; it'll be in the head."

She continued to sit with her back against the doors of the cabinets for a moment. Then, realizing that, while she could not stay there forever, decided that neither did she want to get out of the truck here in the rest stop. It would be too easy for the trucker to come after her, or indeed, call the police. Whose word would they take after all, that of a runaway teenage girl, or a grown man?

She decided she needed to get out on the highway, where the only way the man could come back for her was to make a U-turn, which she would be able to spot and know he was coming. Also, he was too likely to be noticed by a patrol car, and pulled over. Mona didn't think he would risk that. He would probably just drive away, glad to be alive, and keep on going.

She waved the gun at him, making him cringe from her, and directed, "Start this truck back up and head back out on the highway."

"What are you gonna do?" he ask. A prominent note of pleading audible in his voice now, as he struggled to turn around in the seat and, one handed, start the rig back up, shift the gears, and get it moving. The tough guy bully completely vanished.

"I'm going to Louisville. I'm just not going there with you," Mona replied. "Just drive until I tell you to stop. I'm not going to kill you, if that's what you're afraid of; Mister Macho Man!"

After being let out several miles down the road, Mona had stood watching the taillights of the truck recede until they vanished from sight. As the trucker had pulled back up onto the highway Mona, a little enthralled with the might of the gun she had taken from the would be bully, pointed it at the back of the trailer and fired several times. Thinking: That'll keep him from having second thoughts and coming back.

As soon as she had, Mona wished that she had not done it, realizing she just might need those bullets another time. It was too late. They were already gone.

*

A hand on her shoulder brought her crashing back into the present. Mona jumped from her seat on the bench, prepared to run from whoever was accosting her this time.

Before she could flee Bobby's voice called out, "Easy there young lady. There's no need to be all that skittish. It's broad daylight, no one is gonna get you."

When she recognized who it was behind her, Mona turned and practically jumped into his arms. Hugging him around his protruding stomach; she had to stop herself from outright bursting into tears.

"I thought you left me!" she said accusingly. "Honey child. Why would I do a thing like that?" Bobby questioned. Laughing at her discomfort.

When she actually did begin to cry, he hurriedly patted her on the back with one massive hand and lifted her chin with the other. "Now. Now. I didn't mean to upset you Mona. I just pulled the truck around to the pumps. So's I could fuel her up. Took a little longer than I thought it would is all."

Embarrassed at the unexpected tears, which had surprised her as much as they had the big trucker, she pulled away from him and, while attempting to straighten her hair, said, "I thought you didn't want to be messed up with me and decided to just leave while you could without having to go through any fuss."

Bobby said, "But that ain't what happened, Miss Mona.

"I guess I should of told you where I was goin', but I didn't. So. Now that we've got all that straightened out, let's get to rollin'. I told you I want you to meet Freddie. I wouldn't run off and leave before I took you to do that."

___________________________

FIFTEEN

When they got into the limo, Billy slumped into the seat and refused to say anything to any of the other passengers. He remained in that position for the first fifty miles of the journey.

At the moment Jack didn't care if the singer ever spoke to him again. All he wanted from Billy was for him to stay sober long enough to walk out onto that stage tonight, and perform the concert the people were waiting to hear. Half of them were likely already in their seats waiting for the opening band to come on. That group would start playing in about an hour and would perform for at least two hours. With a short intermission between acts, they would make it to the stadium in just enough time for Billy to go on stage and do his show.

Jack had only one talent: Persuasion. He could talk just about anybody into damn near anything. He had talked his way through life.

The spring before he was to graduate, he had left high school to work as a small time hustler in the carnivals which--during the time of his youth--for eight months out of each year, had crisscrossed the country, moving from one small town to the next. There Jack had learned the art of convincing others to think that what they had wanted to do all along was the thing he had just talked them into doing. Polishing that skill, he had filled in winters at various odd jobs, all of which required a gift for gab. Not that the pudgy manager did not live up to any promises he made. To the contrary; he usually went you one better, and delivered more than he guaranteed could be had.

By hook, and crook, and a bit of simple luck, he had stumbled into the high pressure job of being a business agent for several bands who performed in and around the Las Vegas area. Once he had made the connections needed to secure work for his groups in some of the larger clubs along the strip, Jack had succeeded in getting his foot in the door of the record companies. Billy was not the first musician Jack had taken from the club scene to the cover of a record album. So far Billy had been the most successful of the lot and, in addition, by far the most difficult.

Jack decided that, if he could just get Billy's drunk ass through tonight's performance, he didn't much care if the singer dropped over dead when the curtain fell. He'd had enough.

He leaned forward, slid back the window between the passenger compartment and the front of the car where the driver was, and ask, "How much longer until we get to Des Moines, Ted?"

Ted lifted his arm, looked at his watch for a second, and replied, "About three hours, if I push it, Mr. Brenner."

"All right then, push it, but try not to get a ticket. We'll just have enough time to make the show, if we don't have to stop for anything." He leaned back in his seat, looked past Billy to the man riding on the other side of the car. "Do you mind keeping an eye on our prisoner for a while Tom? I'm going to try and get a little sleep if I can. I've been up for two days, looking for this clown. I don't think I can take anymore right now."

"Not at all Mr. Brenner," Tom responded. "You go right ahead. I caught a nap while you were at the hospital."

Jack had not exaggerated the level of his exhaustion. Within seconds of leaning his head against the back of the seat, he was soundly sleeping. He slept undisturbed for more than an hour before a commotion bounced the seat, banging his head against the window, and awakening him to the sound of Billy arguing with Tom.

Opening his eyes he saw that Billy was trying to wrest a bottle of Scotch from Tom, who held it gripped tightly in his right hand, while fending his attacker off with the left.

"What the hell is going on?" Jack shouted above the noise of the fiasco.

"Sorry Mr. Brenner," Tom said apologetically. "I thought we had all of the booze out of the car. Billy found a bottle in the cabinet under his seat, and I had to take it away from him. He's not too happy about it."

Jack, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes, said, "That's all right. Let him have it. Maybe we'll get lucky and it'll kill him. In fact,' he said. Completely awake now. "Get out some glasses and we'll share it with him. I could use a drink right about now."

Tom, looking concerned, not that he cared about Billy, but he did care about Jack, ask, "Are you sure that's a good idea Mr. Brenner? He's got to be on stage in two hours."

"Yea," Jack assured his assistant. "Let him drink it. The whole bottle isn't enough to get this lush drunk, and we're going to help him out. He'll be OK for the show." As soon as Tom relaxed his grip Billy, snatched the bottle from him, twisted the cap off, and started to take a drink straight from the neck.

"Just wait until we get the glasses out Billy," Jack chastised the singer. Catching Billy's wrist in one hand, and taking the bottle from him with the other. "I'm not all that sure I want to drink after you buddy."

Billy gave Jack a disgusted look, and snarled, "You know Jack, I've had about enough of your 'domineering father' act. You're starting to piss me off."

"Well isn't that a surprise Billy," Jack retorted. "We still have something in common after all: You've already pissed me off."

Having found some glasses in the cabinet next to the CD player, mounted behind the center of the front seat, he poured a glass of the whiskey, and passed it across to Tom. Then poured another for himself before handing the bottle back to Billy.

Jack watched a moment, as Billy turned the bottle up and drained a large swallow from it, as if it were cool water, and he was a man who had been stranded in the desert, dying of thirst.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself Billy," he said. "It may well be the last time you and I ever have a drink together."

The sudden intake of eighty proof alcohol had snatched Billy's breath from him. He had to wait until his ability to inhale returned before he could question: "What do you mean by that Jack?"

Jack sat back in his seat, and smiled quixotically. "Oh. I'll let you know after tonight's show," he answered smugly.

_____________________________

SIXTEEN

Bobby and Mona left St. Louis on I-70, and continued their trip, now traveling across Missouri. Bobby drove the truck tirelessly while, at the same time, inundating Mona with enough tales of the highway to fill a novel. When he wasn't rambling on about the road, he was extolling the virtues of Marguerite, and complaining that he wasn't worthy of such a woman.

Mona listened as avidly as she could, which wasn't very, for much of what Bobby had to tell of the trials and tribulations of a lonely trucker held little interest for her. Although, some of his stories were funny, even to a sixteen year old girl.

Much of the trip she spent simply nodding her head when he looked her way, injecting an uh-huh, a yea or a that's right into the one sided conversation at the points her ear told her mouth to do so, without really informing her brain of the operation.

During much of these times, Mona was thinking about how her own life had gone thus far, and dwelling on where it could possibly lead her from here. She had every intention of persisting until she at last arranged a rendezvous with Billy. From that point on, she did not know.

They stopped occasionally to eat at restaurants. Although, most of the time, Bobby bought sandwiches from the truck stops he paused at to fuel the truck and check the oil, or to simply get out and stretch his legs and use the washroom.

Once he pulled into a rest stop for several hours. Mona was suspicious of the move at first. She relaxed when Bobby did nothing more than shut the trucks engine off, then worked his bulk up out of the drivers seat, turned and climbed up into the sleeper. Pulling the curtain closed behind him as he did. He stuck his head back out long enough to tell her to relax and enjoy the scenery for a while. Explaining that he had been falling asleep at the wheel, and had to get a short nap before going on.

When Mona was tired, she climbed up into the sleeper and lay down while Bobby drove. She wondered if he just kept on talking while she was asleep, or actually noticed the difference and shut up. She tried, on several occasions, to feign slumber and find out, but the rhythm of the semi bouncing its way over the asphalt was very soothing and he was always still performing his monologue when she at last dozed off. So she never did find out one way or the other.

On one occasion she awoke to the sound of Bobby's unaccompanied voice singing a melancholy country song. Unlike her experience with the first trucker she had hitched a ride with, she rather enjoyed the sound of his singing, as well as the song:

"When I woke up this mornin'
the note here said you'd gone.
Well I think that's about the worst sorrow
this poor heart has ever known.

"I know I made you feel that way.
I know how hard you tried to stay.
If we could live one thousand years
I could never make it up my dear.

"You helped me through my bad days,
held me in the lonely night.
You're the reason for all my good days,
and any thing that's ever gone right.

"If I had been the one who'd left you
I could understand you feeling this way.
But whatever else I've done to you darlin'
I promised I would always stay.

"Well I'm gonna keep on lovin' you.
I'm gonna keep on lovin' you.
Whatever else I finally do
I'll keep on lovin' you...."

Mona lay there quietly, listening to the song, watching Bobby bounce his head, as he danced with the steering wheel. Singing. As if he were serenading softly into the ear of the woman he loved, while they twirled about a ballroom floor in some fine gala celebration of music and romance.

When the song was over she sat up, leaned forward between the seats, and commented, "That was beautiful Bobby. You have a very pleasant singing voice."

Bobby jumped in the embarrassed surprise of one who has been caught doing in private something they would never repeat in public. "Miss Mona! Now.... You're supposed to let a person know when you're gonna sneak up on them and listen in on their private affairs."

Mona laughed at his comment, and then hurriedly explained, when she saw that she had hurt his feelings.

"It's just what you said Bobby. Why would I want to let someone know I was going to sneak up on them? I knew what you meant, but the way you said it didn't make any sense," she said. Giggling.

Bobby, over his surprise now, began to laugh along with her. This only caused Mona to start laughing again, this time with complete abandon, as the picture of him in the cab of the truck singing away appeared before her again in her memory. She began to mimic his performance, spreading her arms to grip an imaginary steering wheel, and tossing her head back in an exaggerated imitation of Bobby, while bellowing out her own version of his song.

Caught up in the joyous abandon of their mutual laughter, each of them--for reasons the other did not fully know, but together shared--found for that moment a little release from the sorrow of their years. For a small time simply letting go, the two sped down the highway, cackling idiotically, until at last all of their energy was spent and they subsided into near silence. Broken at intervals by a stray giggle from one or the other.

When he could again catch his breath enough to speak, Bobby said, "Now that just ain't fair young lady. I wrote that song myself, and now the very first person ever to hear it has to go and laugh at my performance!"

Mona sobered immediately, and said, "I'm sorry Bobby. I wasn't laughing at your song, it's a beautiful song. It was just so funny the way you were sitting there dancing and singing. You would have laughed too, if you had seen yourself. I'm sure Marguerite didn't laugh when you sang it to her."

Bobby was silent for a moment, before giving Mona a serious look, and then saying, "Well you see Miss Mona...that is...uh. Well...you know...Marguerite never heard that song. Like I said, you're the first person to hear it."

"Oh," Mona said. Confused. "Then you'll just have to sing it for her when you get home Bobby. It is a very nice song. I'm sure she'll like it!"

Bobby was once again silent, and it began to dawn on Mona that there was more to this conversation than her having laughed at Bobby.

"Now Miss Mona, I don't want you to take this wrong. But I gotta tell you," he confessed. Then he coughed before continuing, in the way someone does when trying to clear their throat of some unpleasant object which has become lodged there. "You see I kind of lied to you back in Illinois, when I told you to come on and get in the truck."

Mona had begun to let her guard down with this funny man who she had met on the road, but emotional shields, which have spent years strengthening themselves, do not vaporize in a only few days. The walls she kept between herself and the world sprang back into place instantly. All at once feeling trapped within the confines of the truck, seeking distance again, she scooted back onto the bunk, her hand searching behind her for her jacket and the gun.

When she realized the coat was lying in the passenger seat where she had left it, and the gun was beyond immediate reach she warily ask, "What do you mean you lied to me? What was their to lie about? I was the one asking you for a ride."

Bobby leaned across the distance separating them. Gently grasping the girls arm to quell her alarm, he smiled in understanding and hurried to explain himself. Not wishing to further upset her. "I know. But when I saw how young you were, I just wanted to get you out of that place. I wanted to get you off the road. I could tell you didn't belong out there."

The tone of his voice developed a hint of fear in it, as he continued his hurried explanation. "There's some bad people in this world today. You must have been very lucky to have hitchhiked that far without getting into serious trouble."

"What's that got to do with it?" Mona ask.

"Well I could see you were already scared, and I didn't want to frighten you away--no tellin' who would have picked you up--so I just started talkin' about Marguerite to get you to relax and climb on up into the truck."

His line of thought had made perfect sense to him at the time; realizing how silly it must be sounding to her now, Bobby had to laugh at himself. "I kind-a thought if you saw me as just some henpecked, fat old goofy married guy, you wouldn't be afraid. The only place Marguerite is real anymore is up here in my memories," he said, tapping himself on the temple with his forefinger.

"She's been gone from me for quite a few years."

________________________

SEVENTEEN

Billy sat looking out the window, gazing listlessly toward the trees visible in the distance. He could see the trails which wound through the woods, found their way down to and circled the lake, and eventually lead back to their starting point. By the benches where the patients were allowed to go for some sun, on the days it was deemed warm enough by the hospital staff.

He had only been a resident of the hospitals rehab unit for a week and a half now, but Billy already knew: He didn't like being clean and sober very much.

In fact; he didn't like it at all.

Jack had given him the ultimatum immediately after the concert performance in Des Moines: Either go into a dry out facility or; find a new manager.

Billy had conceded; just to get Jack off of his back. He hadn't expected to spend more that a day or two at the place. By then Billy figured his manager would have cooled down enough to let him off the hook, so they could go on with the tour.

Something had definitely gone wrong with that plan. He had not seen or heard from Jack since that night. The following morning, after the concert, Ted and Tom--two of Jack's flunkeys--had, more or less forcibly, taken Billy from the hotel room and driven him to the outskirts of town, where they then assisted him in checking in at the facility. Apparently, Jack had prearranged the entire operation. The staff, who seemed to have been expecting him, had immediately taken charge of the wayward singer and gaily led him off to be rejuvenated.

Billy didn't know how long he had been sitting before the window, looking out at a world he was no more equipped to truly see than he was able to be a part of. He was still sitting there seeking in his mind an escape he could not find unassisted, when one of the counselors (He thought her name might be Darlene, or maybe Marlene.) entered the room. With a happy smile spread across her face, she said, "It's time for our community meeting Billy. Are you feeling up to attending this morning?"

Billy's first reaction was to yell an obscenity at the woman but something, perhaps it was the silly smile, restrained him from following the thought with the action. Instead he said, "What the heck. I don't have anything else to do. Why not?"

He rose from his position next to the window and followed the disgustingly cheerful woman through the door and on down the hall, to where she turned and entered a large room.

From the looks of it, every one of the patients currently on the unit were gathered in the room; all facing the center of the circle formed by the hard backed chairs in which they sat. At the middle of the circle was a mobile, which had been hung, suspended on a small wire, from the ceiling. Tiny crystal butterflies presented the illusion of glittering flight as they orbited a point in the air above the floor.

The woman led Billy to a vacant chair, and said, "Sit here if you like Billy."

He sat, nervously glancing to the left and right of himself at the people sitting closest to him. Most of them didn't look too healthy, and he wondered what kind of place his "friends" had taken him to. The young girl on his left, a pale skinny looking thing, who might have once been pretty before she gave up skin creams and hair brushes, was sitting with her legs folded beneath her in the chair, arms crossed on her chest; rocking herself. Oblivious to the happenings about her. She wasn't wearing any shoes, and the clothes she had on appeared to have been slept in. The girl was staring straight ahead at the circling butterflies, but Billy didn't think she was seeing them.

The guy on his right was immaculately dressed in a suit and tie. Dark hair perfectly combed to one side, and obviously moussed or gelled to the point that not a single hair had a hope of getting out of place. He looked as if he might have just come from a meeting with the board of directors at a some bank or other. Right down to the leather briefcase sitting in the floor next to his chair.

Billy looked up and met the gaze of the man straight across from him. The fellow was deeply tanned beneath the tattoos which covered his arms, and the parts of his chest not concealed by the tank top he wore. His lower body was sheathed within a pair of scruffy looking jeans; a pair of engineer boots stuck out below the worn hems at the bottoms. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and his face around his eyes was wrinkled by exposure to a lot of sun. From his expression, these had since been added to by a load of worry. He was sporting a long beard, which hid the rest of his facial features. If the man had been seventy or eighty pounds heavier, Billy would have taken him to be a biker. As he was, emaciated and wearing clothes obviously tailored for a much larger frame than his, he only managed to look like any one of a thousand winos you might find on a street corner of any slum.

He had those eyes.

When they met Billy's, they seemed to function more as windows looking in, set to lend the outer world a view of the desperation hidden just behind them, than of letting the man see out into that same world. And, if you stared too long, show you a vision that might well pull you down into the deep dark depths of ultimate despair. A place from which there could be no possible means of ever escaping.

He looked to Billy like someone who has died, but has not yet figured how to go about falling over.

Billy was thinking of getting up and going back to his room when Marlene (or Darlene) said, "Phill. You're our Chairman this week; aren't you?"

A tall lanky, blond haired guy, a third of the way around the circle from Billy, answered, "Yes that's right Marlene--well now Billy new her name at least--I have it for two more days, and then Roy takes over."

Marlene nodded knowingly. Her long ago out of date brunette curls--permanently frozen into place by some "stuck in the sixties" beauticians magic--bouncing gaily about her head.

"Good," she said. "I think we can get started now. Everyone who wishes to attend is present."

Phill, puffing himself up as if he were convening a meeting of congress, and not just calling to order an assemblage of drunks, and drug addicts said, "Good morning group. My name is Phill C., and I'm an alcoholic.

Everyone in the room--except Billy--replied. "Good morning Phill."

"Could we all join together in the Serenity Prayer?" Phill ask.

Billy watched as the attendants, some with eyes closed and heads bowed, others gazing about to see who had their heads bowed and who didn't, recited the prayer together. Marlene, he noted, was watching him.

"God...grant us the serenity...to accept the things...we cannot change...the courage...to change the things we can...and...the wisdom to know the difference."

Phill beamed a smile at the group, and announced, "We have two very special people with us today. One of our members is going to get her wings, and fly away today. Free."

Apparently everyone present, other than Billy, knew of whom Phill spoke, as they all looked across the circle at the young Hispanic girl fidgeting nervously in her chair. Blushing now, at the mention of her imminent release from the hospital, which was followed by a round of stentorian applause.

"Patricia," Phill intoned seriously. "Today you are free. Free of the bonds of alcohol. Free as the butterfly is of the bonds of gravity. Like this beautiful creature, you also are a beautiful person. But do not forget. Just as the butterfly is fragile, and must fly amid the flowers where butterflies belong, and not in the trees where birds of prey wait to devour him, you too must fly in your new freedom among people who are sober, and living as sober people should. Do not return to your old haunts, and play grounds. For there, await those who would prey on you, and steal from you the sobriety you have worked so hard to earn."

He looked to Marlene for approval to go on to the next step of the proceedings. When she gave the OK, by nodding her head, he continued. "This group would like you to take with you one of our butterfly's, which we hold as a symbol of our freedom. Cherish this gift, and keep it with you always. For it represents the strength of this group; sent with you into the world to assist you in doing what none of us here have ever been able to do alone. Live one day at a time, without drinking or using drugs. This butterfly will protect you only so long as you follow the principles you have learned while you have been here with us. You must practice these principles in all of your life's affairs if you wish to live happy and free."

Now completely involved in the ceremony, Phill stood from his seat, walked to the mobile in the center of the circle, and removed one of the crystal butterflies. He carried it across to Patricia and, as he handed it to the girl, as if it were indeed treasure of immense value, said, "If you should ever find yourself in a place where you are about to take a drink, throw this butterfly into the air. As far as you can. And as you watch it fly away remember, if you take that drink, so too shall your life fly away from you. This fragile crystal, which is not really a butterfly at all, must be protected from the forces of gravity. It would shatter if released from the protection of your enfolding hands, and allowed to fall to the ground. So too will your life shatter if you turn loose of the hands of those who walk the road of sobriety along with you."

Patricia accepted the butterfly with a solemnity equal to that of those in the room presenting it to her. As she muttered a barely audible, "Thank You," a second round of applause rose up in the room from all present.

To his surprise, Billy found himself joining in. Embarrassed, he started to get up and leave, but when he saw Marlene smiling at him, checked the motion and remained seated. Phill waved the group to silence, and continued speaking. "There is another in our group whom we must share our strength with today people." He smiled broadly and held his hand out, palm up, in the traditional gesture of friendship, and assistance offered. "We are all happy to have with us Billy T.; from Colorado." There was a chorus of welcomes from around the room.

"We do not know the circumstances which brought you here Billy but, the chances are, if you are here it is not by accident, and if you desire sobriety it is here for you to find."

Phill swept his arm in a semicircle indicating the people in the room. "This is where we meet together for all of our activities as a community. Every morning we have a community meeting to decide how to live together for the day. You will find that we do all of our activities here in just that fashion. One day at a time."

Phill leaned over, and lifted a small box from the floor. Reaching inside, he removed what appeared to Billy to be a brass coin. Turning, he walked to stand before Billy, and handed him the coin. "This is your first day with us. I would like to present you with a one day coin. For whatever the reason; today you have decided to come here rather than pick up a drink. And you will find that to be our true secret. We choose not to drink or use drugs; one day at a time. Anyone can do that Billy. Even you."

Billy took the coin from Phills extended hand. He looked at it for a moment then stood, once again intent on leaving the room. As he came to his feet, Phill put his arms around Billy, hugging the singer to himself with a ferocity which belied his thin build, and threatened to crack Billy's ribs.

"I love you man," Phill said into Billy's ear. "Without you people I would be dead today." He released Billy, moving to sit again in his own chair. Wiping a tear from his cheek as he went.

"I believe that concludes our business for this morning," he said.

"Tonight being Friday, we are going to order out for pizza, and watch some movies. Tomorrow we are going on a field trip. For anyone interested in attending."

_____________________________

EIGHTEEN

Bobby and Mona traveled in silence through the night, and for most of the entire next day. Bobby continued to occasionally pull the truck in to a truck stop for a nap, or to pick up supplies or fuel. Eventually they crossed Missouri, passed silently through Kansas City and drove out the other side. Headed for Topeka.

As they journeyed amidst the gently sloping hills of north eastern Kansas, Mona decided that, however briefly, she had misjudged Bobby's motives. Knowing that, sooner or later she would have to trust someone, she sought a means of renewing their abbreviated friendship.

Watching for his reaction as she spoke, she said, "This is beautiful country Bobby. Is it your home?"

Bobby the whole time hoping, that if he simply maintained a peaceful silence, Mona might see that he meant her no harm had been, until that point, driving as if he were alone in the truck. Allowing the young girl space, and some time to come to terms with the situation. Smiling in relief, as the wall of silence between them was broken, he said, "Well Miss Mona, it is now. But originally I was born and raised in Tennessee. You likely never heard of the place. Palmer is just a little-bitty town, about seventy miles east from Nashville. I pulled out of there when I was seventeen years old and never went back since that day. Wasn't nothin' much there for a young man in those days. All the good farm land was taken, and I never was much on farming anyhow. Most of my family, they just barely earned enough money to get by loggin' and makin' moonshine. Of course, they drank up most of the profits from that. No. I seen this ad in a magazine about some company in Nashville needin' truck drivers, so I hitchhiked up there and got a job. It's what I been doin' ever since."

He looked around at the country flowing past the side windows of the semi, and concluded, "Never really had much of a home after that 'till I met Freddie. But this is my home now; I adopted it when me and her hooked up together. About five years after Marguerite was gone."

Mona had experienced a rather disrupted family life of her own, so could sympathize with Bobby's having lost Marguerite. But she could not understand why, if he had such a good friend in the woman Freddie, he would go on pining for a lost love.

In an attempt to discern the truth of his life, she ask, "Did Marguerite leave you for another man Bobby?" She was expecting any of several different answers. From yes or no. To mind your own business. But laughter was not one of them.

Bobby laughed aloud, and said, "I guess I better straighten this whole thing out Miss Mona. So we both know what's goin' on here, and don't have any more misunderstandin's."

More to give the girl something to do while he talked, than because he couldn't manage himself Bobby ask, "Could you reach that thermos in back and pour me a cup of coffee Mona? I would appreciate it." He pulled the cup holder out from the dash and continued his explanation as she complied to his request.

"See. I was a lot younger and wilder back in them days. When I met Marguerite I mean. I was cruisin' down in Texas, runnin' goods across the border between San Antonio, and Monterrey. A lot of the stuff I carried across wasn't exactly on the legal side."

He shot a quick guilty look Mona's way and hurriedly augmented his last statement, by saying, "I don't mean drugs or nothin' like that. I'm not a drug pusher now! No. I just slipped a few things by the customs boys every now and then to avoid the duty and import tariffs. That can eat up half your profit you know."

Mona giggled, and said, "You're a terrible criminal Bobby."

He smiled. Happy they were once again friends. "Yea I know," he admitted. "Well anyway. I met Marguerite down in Monterrey. She was a pretty little thing!"

"You don't have any pictures?" Mona queried.

"Just the one. It's of the two of us, standing in front of the church, on the day we got married. I used to carry it mounted right up there on the dashboard but after I met Freddie...well it didn't seem right somehow, so I finally put it in a trunk for safe keeping. Haven't looked at it in years."

"So what happened Bobby?" Mona ask again, attempting to get him back on the subject of where Marguerite disappeared to.

"Oh," he said. "I do like to ramble; don't I?"

Mona nodded her head affirmatively as he returned to his story.

"I was in this little cantina, I never did like drinkin', but I always have enjoyed music and, at that time, was especially fond of Maria chi. I spoke just enough Spanish to not understand what they were saying. But I didn't care. The music made me happy just listenin'. I didn't have to understand it for that."

Bobby looked over at Mona, who was sitting with her arms folded across her chest, head tilted to one side, eyebrows raised and her lips pursed together with that "All right already, get on with it!" look on her face. He hastened to continue his tale before she could chastise him again.

"Well I had come into the place and ordered some tamales for lunch--it was too early for the band to be playin' yet--I was just sittin' watchin' the world go by. Thinkin' maybe I would get on the road early so I could make it to the border before dark. Then here she came in the door. Sellin' flowers."

His face turning red, he glanced at Mona and smiled sheepishly, "Now I didn't have no kind of idea who I was gonna buy flowers for, but I pulled a dollar bill out of my wallet, and waved her over to the table where I was sitting.

"We haggled over the price," he said. Explaining. "That was kind of a tradition down there, you couldn't buy nothin' without tryin' to talk whoever was sellin' into comin' down on the price. If you didn't sometimes they would get pretty insulted, and just not sell it to you at all. Or else charge you triple; just for spite."

Getting back on track, he said, "She didn't hardly speak no more English than I did Spanish, but we managed. Then, maybe because I was lonely or just because she was such a pretty young girl,

I ask her if she was hungry and she said, 'Si.' So I told her I had ordered up more tamales than I could eat and ask her to have lunch with me."

He laughed at his own naivety. "I didn't have no idea the kind of trouble I could get into in Mexico. I was just a country boy from Tennessee."

He winked at Mona, as if to say he was letting her in on some secret that everybody knew but no one talked about. "I had seen the girls in the cantina dancin' with the men and drinkin' the drinks they bought them. And I wasn't so dumb that I didn't know what they were doing when they went upstairs with the customers. Anybody with half a brain could of figured it out."

Amused at Bobby's round about way of saying things he didn't know how to express bluntly--teasing now--Mona ask, "What were they doing Bobby?"

Sputtering, he looked at her and said, "Well they were...you know...just never you mind young lady!"

Mona started giggling and Bobby realized she was putting him on. Feigning anger, he pounded his fist on the steering wheel and said, "Now look here! I know you kids today are a lot more worldly than all of us old folks. What with cable TV and the garbage they show in the theaters these days. But that don't mean you have to take advantage of me every chance you get. Now. Are you gonna let me finish, or not?"

Still giggling, she sat up straighter in her seat, miming rapt attention, and replied contritely, "Yes Bobby. I'm sorry."

"Well good," he said. Smiling to show her that he wasn't really upset with her. "You should be."

"Anyway," he said. "We sat there and had lunch. Me grinnin' at the poor girl the whole time, like a sick puppy, and her laughin' at all the wrong ideas I had about her country. I guess I would of sat there the rest of the day and night, just lookin' at her. If her brothers hadn't come in.

"I didn't know until later, but Marguerite wasn't much older than you are right now. I was only twenty-three myself, and in Mexico that's not too old a man for a seventeen year old girl, but Marguerite wasn't one of the bar girls. She was from a traditional family. I guess sellin' flowers was all right but when her brothers found out she was in the cantina having lunch with an American...well they were a little upset."

Bobby hit the steering wheel again, this time with the palm of his hand, and said, "If I could be there now, and see the look on my own face when I realized what was goin' on, I'd fall out in the floor laughing at myself.

"Me and Marguerite was talkin', and laughin', then all of a sudden I noticed it had got real quiet in the room. I looked around, to see what was goin' on, and there they was comin' through the door an' headin' right for my table.

"I heard Marguerite gasp. I looked back at her, and she was white as a sheet. Them boys (there was three of them) walked up, pulled some chairs over from the next table, and sat down. One on each side of me, and the other, the oldest one I guessed from the looks of him, straight across the table. Beside Marguerite."

Mona could tell it had been an intense moment, just from the expression Bobby had on his face while recounting the incident these many years later. The tone of his voice added to the drama and, as he continued talking, she felt as if she had been right there with him.

"I was always a big man," he said. "But even so, there were three of them, and I was in a strange land. So, takin' it kind of easy, I leaned forward and put my hands on the table, and said, 'I don't speak very good Spanish, so if you speak English it'll help. What can I do for you fellas?'

"The one across from me answered, 'That's OK Mister Gringo. I speak pretty good American. Si?'

"'Good enough,' I said, still lookin' him straight in the eyes.

"'I think so too,' he replied. I could tell I wasn't intimidating him one bit. I didn't think he had blinked once since he sat down.

"'What you want with my sister Mister Gringo? She is no one of the girls who come here to go up the stairs with American touristas. No?'

"'Yes...I mean no,' I said. 'See. We were just talking and having lunch together. That's all.'

"'In my country is no a good thing for you to 'have lunch and talk' with a young girl from good family. My brothers and me, we think maybe you try to com-pro-mise young girl. We can not be very happy if such a thing happen.'

"The oldest one pointed at Marguerite and said to the brother on the right of me, 'Carlo, you take little sister home now. Me and Rico, we bring Mister Gringo along with us.'

"'OK Paulo,' Carlo said. He took Marguerite by the arm and started to lead her from the cantina. She looked back over her shoulder and called out, 'I am sorry Mister Bobby. I don't mean to get you in trouble. I tell them it was my fault.'

"After they were out the door Paul pulled a knife from his belt and before I could move, stuck it in the table top between my hands. He leaned closer and looked in my eyes and said, 'Mister Gringo....'

"I interrupted him and, just to let him know he wasn't scarin' me--even though he was--said in as clam a voice as I had in me right then, 'My name is Bobby.'

"He still wasn't blinkin'. 'OK Mister Bobby. We go to my families hacienda now. They going to talk to you.'

"He pulled the knife out of the table and wiped it on his sleeve. Then said, 'You say the right things to them. Or I cut your neck. Like this.' Then he took the knife and holding it by his left ear pulled it around to the other ear in a graphic demonstration."

Bobby chuckled to himself at the memory and continued. "Now I didn't have no desire to go with them boys but I couldn't see no way out right at that minute. So we all got up and went out to their old pickup truck and got in--me sandwiched in the middle between them so's I couldn't get away if I tried."

"Now see, I didn't know it until later, after me and Marguerite were married and I got to know them boys, but those fellows had no intention of hurting me. They were just tryin' to scare me. Their sister had been sellin' flowers down in town for a year or so, and for all they knew, had been meetin' up with me the whole time. They were just tryin' to do the right thing by their little sister. Which was: find out if I had any good intentions for the girl and if I didn't, then run me out of town before I ruined her reputation."

Mona ask, "So what did you do then Bobby?"

"Well," he said. "We went on up to their house and they took me in to meet their parents. You know, I still had those flowers with me. I guess I just picked them up without thinkin' about it. So here I was bein' introduced to her father and mother and I just kind of naturally handed the flowers to Marguerite's mother and said, 'I brought some flowers for the lady of the house.'"

Bobby looked over at Mona, shaking his head in amazement at the memory of those events on that far away day. "Her father and mother didn't speak any English at all, so the brothers did all the translating to their questions. They wanted to know what my intentions were for their daughter and all that kind of stuff. By the time I got out of there they were convinced I was askin' for her hand in marriage. Me and Marguerite both tried to tell her brothers that we had just met that very day but they were havin' none of it. So in the end I just went along with them so's I could get the heck out of there."

"Let me tell you!" he said. Pointing his finger at her for emphasis. "I had no intention whatsoever of going back to that town when I finally did get away from that family. "Funniest thing though, the next week I had a load to haul down to Monterrey and there I was unloaded and sittin' at the warehouse with nowhere to go. Next thing I know I'm thinking of that pretty little girl, and next thing after that I was at their door with a box of candy askin' to see her.

"They had their rules about things of course, and we had to be chaperoned, and looked at, and poked at, and approved of by everyone in the family. I had to tell them about my family. I was kind of embarrassed about that, so I made up half of what I told them out of thin air. Anyway, that went on for about six months and then we did actually get married. Of course, by then I was all for the idea. They was a good bunch of people, and I didn't have another thing goin' on for myself up here in the Sates. I guess that was--lookin' back on it--one of the happiest times of my life."

Bobby drove in silence for a while realizing that, as well as recounting his tale to Mona, he was letting the man he had become since that long ago time see the lad who had lived those lost days. He had never before brought the two together in his mind; afraid perhaps some part of himself would be lost forever if he did. Some innocence the youth had possessed which he had left behind somewhere along the road, and through the years.

Not looking at Mona now, peering through the windshield at a world beyond her view, Bobby recounted the event she had originally ask to hear, and told her of Marguerite's departure.

He said, "We were married for about two years. For the first six months or so I went right on driving by myself just as I had been doin' before I met her, but after that Marguerite began to go with me, when she wasn't needed around her families place to help out. They really didn't have a lot in the way of money or possessions but they were makin' out OK before I came along. Still I did change things quite a bit. I brought a lot of farm equipment down from the States that they couldn't get in Mexico, and life got a little easier for all of them, and they had a little more free time."

Mona sat, listening and recalling her own childhood as he talked, beginning to see the link which drew her to this stranger and caused her to want him to be her friend.

"Me and Marguerite was comin' back from Texas, drivin' down Route 40 out of Brownsville one night. I come around this curve, and there was a car down in the ditch, and another sittin' across the middle of the road. Looked as if there had been a wreak.

"I guess if I had known what was waitin' around the next curve after that I would have done things differently. I don't know," he said. "But all I could see at the time was that car down off the road and, in the back of the other one, right smack in front of the truck, the face of somebody's little girl plastered up against the window. Eyes as big as saucers. Watchin' me, and that big old truck, comin' straight at her."

Bobby passed Mona a bleak look. She could tell from his voice that he was having trouble telling this part of his story. As she watched him reach inside himself, and touch a place which wasn't visible to a casual observer looking at the outside of the big man, there began to grow in Mona an admiration for her new friend quite unlike any she had ever felt for another person before. He gathered the strength he kept in this hidden place, and finished the telling.

"My lane was blocked, and the other car was down off the road on the right side, so all I could do was cut the wheel as hard as I could, and swing that semi over into the oncoming lane. Tryin' to get past the car in the middle of the road. It was a blind curve on the other side, and we just made it through with out wreakin' the truck. Marguerite was whoopin' and hollerin'. I didn't know if she was scared to death or just havin' a good old time with the wild ride we was takin'. We come out of that curve just barely managin' to keep from flippin' over, and I thought sure we was in the clear. Then I saw what had caused the cars to wreak in the first place.

"There was a big old tree blown down.

"That tree was blockin' most of the road and I guess one of the cars had swerved to get around it, and the two had hit each other. By the time I seen that tree, there was no choice but to ram straight on into it full speed.

"We was movin' along at a pretty good clip, and that old truck knocked that tree probably halfway back up the hill when we hit. Then the trailer come up off of the fifth wheel and slammed into the back of the sleeper. The cab spun around sideways, and the trailer drug us along for a second, then tore itself loose and slid on by. The truck spun on around the rest of the way and I was drivin' right at the rear end of my own trailer. After that I guess the trailer hit the hillside. And me and Marguerite....

"We just plowed right on into the trailer."

_______________________

NINETEEN

Genevieve Francine McKinnley, who was known as Freddie by her closest friends, was concerned about Bobby. It wasn't any one particular thing he had said to her during their conversation which had sparked her concern, but the tone of his voice was very different from his normal carefree self. He had sounded cheerful in one breath and then heavyhearted with the next.

She pulled a rubber band from her apron pocket and, while putting her long brown hair back in a pony tail, lifted her tall willowy frame up from the stool where she had sat down to converse with Bobby, after the bartender called her from the chores she had been about across the room, and said her partner was on the line from St. Louis. She crossed back over to the tables next to the windows, and continued arranging the breakfast settings.

This wasn't something she had to do herself. There were plenty of ready hands at the Bed and Breakfast. However, as the proprietor, Freddie felt it her duty to come out and assist the workers at their various tasks from time to time. Not only was this practice beneficial for the morale of her employees, it also afforded her the opportunity to check on their jobs without their actually being aware of her scrutinizing them. After completing her tasks in the dining room of the inn, and--as she had anticipated--not finding anything amiss about her employees performance of their assigned duties, Freddie left the main building and walked along the gravel path to the cottage where she and Bobby lived.

Upon entering the house, she first had to go through the ritual of petting her cat, who acted as if she had been gone for weeks, not just an hour or so. It was a ceremony Freddie had become accustomed to through the years. Having lived in the presence of many other felines prior to the one now curling itself around her ankles while at the same time purring like a vibrator, she had determined that going through these greetings was simpler than not. If you ignored the animal they would persist. Following you around the house, meowing, and getting under foot until you finally gave in to their demands. However, spending just a few minutes of petting time resulted in the animal then proceeding to act as if you no longer existed. It having once again marked you, and determined that all the cat world would know that you were its private property. And beware.

Freddie passed through the living room of the cottage and, instead of continuing straight on into the kitchen, turned to the right and traversed the short hallway which led to the dwellings two bedrooms, one on each side, with a small bathroom between them at the end of the hall.

Bobby had not exactly been mysterious on the phone, he had simply stated that he was bringing company home with him, and ask her if she would mind letting out her daughters room for a time. Of course Freddie had told him that she did not mind at all. (Her daughter had been grown and gone from the house for several years now.) Freddie still kept the room furnished for the occasions when Cynthia came vacationing, so she would be able to stay in the house with Freddie and Bobby. The only other alternative being to stay in one of the rooms at the Bed and Breakfast. Cyn would not have complained about having to do that, and had her self on several occasions voiced her opinion that they should use the room for other purposes--the cottage was small and lacking of extra space--but Freddie would have none of it. Besides, her and Bobby didn't need all that much room for just the two of them, and there was plenty of storage in the barn behind the inn. They were never crowded by extra furnishings they weren't using, but did not wish thrown away.

There was no need to get the room ready now; several days would likely pass before Bobby could travel the distance from St. Louis, unload the truck, and arrive at the inn. But Freddie was never one to put things off, besides, knowing that another woman was coming into her home, she was intent on finding and removing any trace of poor housekeeping. No one would ever be able to say she kept a dirty home.

Bobby had told her the guest he had with him was a woman, but would not elaborate further, only saying that he was sure Freddie would like her. Freddie wasn't jealous of Bobby, but sometimes his sense of humor was a little more than she could easily tolerate. She figured the person was a niece or a cousin of his, and he was simply enjoying teasing her. So telling him to be careful, and hurry home, had let it go at that and hung up the phone. She would fix him when she got her hands on him.

_______________________________

TWENTY

The harder he fought against it, the more Billy found himself enjoying his time at the hospital. The staff preferred to call the place a recovery house, but Billy knew a hospital when he saw one. He could just as well recognize sick people, when surrounded by them.

As the days passed, the drugs and alcohol, which had controlled his every waking moment for at least half of his living years, began to leave his physical self unburdened by their demands. In his mind however, and perhaps his soul as well, Billy still lived with the compulsion to find an escape from the reality of being. Unable to do so by seeking insensibility, he found a new road away from that image of self, which could not be faced without accusation.

Billy began to inhabit a part of his mind which he had never previously explored with more than a stray thought. He found himself pondering the lives of the people around him. Not as he had done throughout most of his life, with an eye to manipulation and personal gain. Instead, he listened to the tales of their experiences, and began to empathize with their feelings about themselves. As he came to know them, and care for them, he began to realize he had much in common with these people.

Some had money. Others did not. Some were very attractive people. Others were--by the looks of them--the leftovers of society, which nobody wanted. Some of these stranded travelers were, from the quality of their conversations, seemingly very brilliant people. Other members of the assemblage were obviously droll imbeciles. Whatever the nature of the person, they were all afflicted with a common addiction to drugs or alcohol. Somehow this united them.

Billy could reach out to others with his music, and touch their hearts. The words of his songs could inspire a listener to seek to become more than he had been before hearing them. The man himself, Billy Tomorrow, had never found the ability to touch or allow himself to be affected by others without inflicting or receiving pain as reward. Now, encapsulated in the small world of the hospital, without his music as a shield. Without the facade of the performer to present to these people, he had to interact with them as just another helpless voyager stranded in the desert of sobriety, and even though he did not accept himself, they accepted him. Not only did they accept him, they reached out to him and touched him in ways he had never before known.

None of these people wanted anything from him. They didn't want his money. Most of all they didn't want his soul. What they did was try to give him something from themselves. A thing which Billy did not seem to possess within his own being. Compassion for, and understanding of, Billy.

With nothing else to do while residing at the facility, having always been a social person, Billy could not refrain from visiting during his free time, and interacting with the other patients. In addition to these activities he had, out of boredom begun to attend the daily classes and meetings which took place throughout the treatment center. Sometimes held in the day room or, if there were videos or other projected material to be viewed, in one of the special classrooms. If the weather permitted, the meetings were often held outdoors. Wherever the location, Billy began to understand their purpose. He began learning how to live.

At the end on one such meeting, during which a visitor to the hospital was giving a recounting of his experiences as a drunkard, Billy found himself raptly attentive to the man's tale. The man was about the same age as Billy and, although not quite as tall or physically attractive as the singer, standing five-eleven, and having blond hair and blue eyes, he was moderately handsome.

Although the others life bore little relation to his own, Billy connected with the emotion and turmoil expressed in the monologue as the speaker completed his telling:

"....because I walked back into one of these rooms, and I sat down with something I never came in with before. I've been told it's one of the key elements to making the program work in your life. I walked in and I sat down with a willingness to listen, and a desire not to drink. That's the only requirement to come into one of our meetings: A desire not to drink.

"For me it took willingness to listen, and faith to believe that this too could work for me.

"Since that day, when I took my last drink of alcohol, I've experienced many changes in my life. Some of them were seemingly far worse than anything I ever went through when I was drinking, but I got through them. Just by getting up every day and saying, 'Thank you God for the day of sobriety I've just lived through and today, whatever else you have for me to do, please don't let me drink.' If I don't do anything else to stay sober that gets me through the day."

Perhaps it was the simple sincerity in the man's voice, and the expression of calm contentment on his face, which attracted him. Billy did not know. Nevertheless he listened.

"I came in here absolutely, totally screwed up in the head with no idea what was going on in my life. Or what had gone on, or what motivated me to live the way I had, and I've sat and listened to people who have stayed sober a long, long time tell me how they did it. I've heard some people who haven't been sober very long at all, tell me how they did it, and that's what worked for me that day.

"There isn't any alcoholic who walks into any one of these rooms and sits down, who's been sober twenty years, or twenty days-- Man if you didn't take a drink today, you've got something to share with me! Something I can use in my life.

"When I first found sobriety all I could do was just try to clean up the wreckage of my life. Clean up the wreckage that was me. The longer I was around I thought there would be less and less wreckage to clean up. There's a lot of it out there.

"For a while, I did what a lot of people do. I don't know if there's a lot; I did what some people do. I got through the first half of the first step, and admitted I was powerless over alcohol. I had no thoughts what ever that my life was unmanageable. I quit drinking, and I thought that all my problems were drinking.

"I had it down. I didn't drink no more, and I went out and just managed my life away!

"I carried a lot of people around to meetings. I was going to save all the drunks. This went on for a while. Some of them are still sober, and some of them aren't, and it doesn't have a thing to do with me. It has to do with they sat down and said, 'God, I don't want to do this anymore.'

"The one thing it did do, it kept me sober. It kept me sober until I could see that my problem wasn't that I drank, and my problem wasn't any drugs I took, or anything else outside of me. My problem was that a lot of my life was motivated be an absolute fear of living. In addition, it was motivated by totally self centered behavior.

"Everything I did, was because I wanted to do it.

"Everything I got was because I wanted it. I put on the aspects of a normal human being, a husband, a father, and a worker, but I only did these things because they were necessary to have what I wanted. I wanted respect, and I wanted people to think that I was 'OK', and I wanted people to think that I was like them.

"Really, that wasn't what I wanted at all: I wanted instant happiness and satisfaction from everything I touched.

"I've been sober for two years and eight months. After all those years of putting my wife through daily terror, and misery, and pain, and anger, the thing she thought she wanted more than anything in the world happened, and I quit drinking, and our lives together got worse. Because we hadn't liked each other for a long, long time...we got divorced last year.

"A friend of mine caught me buy surprise one day. I was standing on the street where I live now, doing something to my car when he drove by and he said, 'What are you doing in my neighborhood?' I said, 'Well I live over here now.'

"He asked, 'What happened?'

"I said, 'I got divorced.'

"He replied, 'I told you a long time ago, that if you didn't change you were going to get divorced.'

"'So, what happened?' Albert ask again.

"I didn't have time to think about it, and I just said, 'You know Albert, I think I did too much damage.'

"And now I understand: That was honesty. It came from my heart. I didn't have time to think about what I was going to say, and I didn't have time to blame my ex-wife, and I didn't have time to blame my son.

"I think I did too much damage.

"And I'm not entitled to resentments: 'She did this, and she did that, and she wasn't living up to my expectations. My son isn't this, and he isn't that and he isn't living up to my expectations.' They don't have to. They only have to live up to their own expectations.

"The problem is Dave. Everything that happened in my life; I either did it or invited it to happen. I either took action that caused, or took inaction that allowed it. 'I just did too much damage.' And a lot of it was done to myself.

"I don't know about anybody else, but I know that for me it was a painful thing to happen, but it was the best thing for me. Because I didn't know how to take care of myself. I didn't know how to pay my own bills. I didn't how to wash my own dishes, and wash my own clothes, or wake myself up in the morning and go to work. And I didn't really know how to like myself a whole lot.

"Anything bad that happened in my life. I just did too much damage.

"Anything good that's happened in my life is due to God, and the people He's put into my life.

"I have some wonderful people in my life today. There are people in my life who care about me and want me to be sober, and want me to like myself, and want me to grow up. I try very hard. I work very hard at that.

"A lot of this has been my experience before, when I was drinking. A little bit of it has been my experience since I've stopped drinking and come around these meetings.

"I can't explain the steps to you, and I'm not going to try because I have enough trouble figuring it out myself listening to the people who've worked them, what to do with them. But I do know that it takes more than listening to them, and talking about them. It takes applying them to your life.

"I have to accept the fact that I'm an alcoholic and my life is unmanageable, and apply that to my life.

"I have to accept my higher power, God, in my life, ask for his direction and try to follow it. I have to inventory myself and find out why I did the things I did, and why I do the things I do today, and ask to have the undesirable parts of myself removed from my character, and ask to have desirable ones put in their place...and I surely have to make amends to all the people I have harmed, but I have to be real careful how I do that, because I don't want to harm anyone anymore. I don't have the ability to say I was drunk, I didn't mean that. If I harm somebody today, I don't have an excuse. I don't have any excuse. I try not to do that.

"I tried real hard to carry this message to people for a while, and I just didn't have any message to carry. More than anything: Today I just try to demonstrate that this program works for alcoholics. If by nothing else than by the simple fact that I can stand here and say: 'I was a hopeless helpless drunk, and I haven't had a drink in two years and eight months, and that people who knew me before find that awfully hard to believe. The me that I knew before, I find that awfully hard to believe, because I couldn't do that on my own.'

"Every time we read in The Book about the way it works, the most important part I hear, and try to apply to myself is the story about the unbeliever, and it's description of the alcoholic. It explained to me what an alcoholic was, and I said yea I'm one, and it talked about God in a way that I could comprehend Him. It says, that's all right if you don't believe in Him. He believes in you.

"Just hang around, do what we do, and you won't have to drink anymore. "And the stories before and after. You see I sat on a lot of bar stools and shared a lot of adventures with a lot of people. You people have one thing to share with me that those people never had. You have experiences in staying sober. I never heard anything like that on a bar stool.

"I came in here and heard it from ex-drunks. 'Dave, this is how we've stayed sober. Try it and it will work for you.'

"I guess the most important thing I can think of to say right now is the words that I finally heard. They were said to me many times, by family, by friends, by bosses, and doctors, and lawyers. By many people. I finally heard them when they were said to me by an ex-drunk in one of these rooms.

"He looked at me and said, 'Dave, you don't have to drink no more.' I guess until that second I just didn't know that I had to drink. I thought I wanted to, and I know today that I had to. If there's any one in this room who knows they have to drink, and came in here for the first time, I can only pass it on. Just come with us and do what we do, and do it long enough, and you won't have to drink no more, and your life will get better."

Dave paused for a moment, sighed and then said, "I guess that's all I got, thanks."

Billy had tears in his eyes.

_____________________________

TWENTY ONE

Mona was asleep when Bobby eventually pulled the semi tractor into the drive at the Bed and Breakfast. He had dropped the trailer at the docks of the company's warehouse in Topeka and "bobtailed" it the rest of the way home. He could pick the trailer up later if need be. Otherwise, the freight line would have it loaded where it was, and send another driver to haul the load to its next destination.

Easing the big truck down the drive until he had it safely out of the way along side the one story log house which sat back from the inn Bobby shut the engine down, gathered up his paper work, and was about to wake Mona.

She had already awakened, when the soothing rhythms of the diesel had ceased vibrating the cab. Sitting up in the seat, and rubbing the sleep from her eyes she ask, "Where are we Bobby?"

Smiling the smile of one who has planned and, successfully, pulled off a pleasant surprise for another he cares about, Bobby replied, "We're home Mona."

Mona, fully awake now, climbed down from the truck, and looked about. From the drive in front of the cabin you could see the back of the inn, and past that the tree covered hills, through which the road they had just departed wound its way.

Spring well past, the foliage was now complete in its coverage, and every sight it happened to rest upon, the eye was soothed by the various shades of green composing the color of a deciduous forest. The mind might not remember, or might never have known, the sights, sounds, and smells of the forest. Still, there are few people, no matter their place of birth and upbringing, be it city, town or country, who are not immediately befriended, and comforted by these surroundings. For in all of us is the primal being who knows this place as home.

"It's beautiful here Bobby," Mona commented, as she walked around the truck, and accepted her suitcase from him when he handed it down to her.

"Kind of thought so myself," he said. "First time I drove my rig around that there curve, and seen the Inn a-sittin' here all peaceful lookin' 'neath all these trees I couldn't help myself...I just had to pull in and sit for a day or two." He looked around, as if he still could not get enough of feasting his eyes on the greenery of the land about them.

Then, looking back at Mona, still with that same satisfied smile on his face, he commented, "Kind of trapped my self I guess. Been here ever since. More or less."

As they approached the house, the front door opened and the tallest woman Mona had ever seen emerged. Although dressed in a simple cotton house dress, with her hair pulled back in a pony tail, her slim figure and startling beauty stood in complete contrast to Bobby. Who, even though he stood as tall as the woman, with his plain country looks, and dressed in flannel shirt and faded blue jeans, his middle grown larger than his top, would never be taken by most, at first guess, as her choice of companions.

Though impressed with the woman's height, and immediately obvious beauty, Mona was spellbound by her eyes. Had the woman been standing in the woods, camouflaged to the point of invisibility, at the first hint of light touching her face, her eyes would haven given her away. They were such a radiant green that they appeared almost to be back lit from within. Mona thought the woman had to be wearing some kind of tinted contact lenses, and only later learned that she had been gifted with that hypnotic gaze from birth. After knowing her for a while, one could look upon that stare almost undaunted. But never without some small part of your mind thinking she could see your every thought.

Upon the woman's appearance, Bobby stopped and gave out a sustained, suggestive whistle of appreciation. She, seeming not to notice, let the screen door close behind her and walked toward the duo until she stood before them. She gave Mona an appraising look, then turned her attentions to Bobby.

"So," she commented. "This is the company you've brought home with you; is it now Bobby McGraw?"

Bobby, looking rather sheepish, replied, "Yes Freddie. I didn't have time to explain everything on the phone. I figured--"

"That's right. You figured," she interrupted. "Are you going to introduce us; or just let the two of us stand here and gawk at each other?"

Mona presumed this must be Freddie.

She had been intimidated at first by the woman's appearance, but now began to become angered at the tone of her voice. Glancing over toward Bobby, noting the expression of extreme discomfort on his face, it suddenly became clear to Mona that Freddie was extracting a small measure of revenge from the situation. Likely she was miffed at Bobby for bringing a stranger to her home with little or no announcement. Then, looking again at Freddie, Mona saw that she was not actually angry but was merely having some gentle fun at Bobby's expense, as a means of chastising him. Along with this realization came an instant liking of this woman who obviously cared for Bobby, had been concerned for his safety, and was glad to have him in her presence once again. Out of pity for her new friend, Mona took him off the hook, and stepped forward to introduce herself.

"Hello," she said, looking timidly up at the impressive woman, whose home she had invaded. "You must be Mrs. McGraw. My name is Mona Merrill." Hesitating then, Mona looked toward Bobby, seeking his help in return for hers and continued; "Bobby said it would probably be all right if I stayed here for a few days, but if it's going to be a problem I'll just go now."

Freddie took the girls hand in her own, smiled down at her, and said, "Now then! We'll have none of that talk about leaving, when you've only just arrived! If Bobby promised you a place to stay, why, you're welcome as long as you care to be here."

Then looking about, as if she had herself never seen these surroundings before this moment, Freddie said, "Where on earth would you go to, if you did leave? There is nothing within miles of this place, other than a couple of farms. I was simply having a little fun with Bobby. He's continually bringing unexpected guests home with him. Usually they're on the order of a stray dog or a raccoon and such. I don't mind, but my cat doesn't think too much of him for it."

She laughed aloud, and giving Bobby a reproving glance as she did, said, "The last time he brought a person to this house, it was some hobo he had picked up on the road. We try to be hospitable people but we finally had to run him off. To keep him from eating us out of house and home!"

Turning and starting back toward the house, while still holding Mona's hand in her own, Freddie said, "Bobby you and I already know too much about each other; we can talk later. Bring the young ladies things in, and put them in the guest room, while she and I get acquainted."

Bobby, smiling once again, this time at the successful meeting of his two friends, glad to be off the hook for bringing the girl here with him, replied, "OK Freddie. I'm gonna shower up. If you need me, I'll be in the office after that; fixin' on my books."

Then he shook his head, realizing, as he watched Mona and Freddie enter the house together, that neither of them had heard a word he said.

As he picked up Mona's suitcase he heard Freddie tell her, the volume of her voice increasing just enough to reach him as she did, "By the way. My name isn't McGraw. It's McKinnley. But all my friends call me Freddie." Bobby knew that Freddie had actually aimed the remark at him.

____________________________________

TWENTY TWO

As the other patients were gathering up the used coffee cups, and emptying ash trays, Billy made his way to the podium in an effort to see the man who had given his talk as the purpose of the meeting. He waited until the girl ahead of him had finished saying her thanks to the man, and walked away. Then, stepping within reach, he extended his hand, and introduced himself, as the other returned his handshake.

"My name is Billy. I just wanted to say, thanks a lot, Dave. I really liked your speech."

Dave smiled and replied, "Thank you for being here Billy. I needed a place to be tonight and, if you hadn't been here for me, I would've had to find somewhere else to go."

"I would think, with a story like that to tell, you would be booked every night of the week," Billy replied.

"Well," Dave said. "I don't know if 'being booked' is quite the right word for it Billy. I was ask by the chairman of the meeting to come here and share my experience tonight, but I don't get paid for it. It's a voluntary thing, and it's not a story, every word is the truth of my life. Just my experience; that's all."

He thought for a moment and then said, "Look Bill--."

"Billy."

"OK...Billy. I'm on midnight shift this week, I've got a couple of hours before I go to work, why don't you and I go down to the commissary, and have some coffee. We can talk for a while. If you don't mind?"

"Sure, I got nothin' else going on here. This party was getting pretty dull until you showed up."

______________________________

TWENTY THREE

Upon entering the house, Freddie led Mona across the living room, through the door next to the hallway, and into the kitchen. Mona liked the cozy look of the log cabin room, with the fireplace in the corner--she ask and was told:

"Yes. It burns real wood."

The furniture in the living room was all made of wood frames, varnished to a mirror like luster, with big fluffy cushions. Which could be moved around, and stacked however the user wanted them, for their own personal comfort. The coffee table in front of the couch appeared to have been carved from a single slab of pine, and then similarly varnished to match the couch and chairs.

When they entered the dining area of the long country kitchen, Mona was not surprised to find herself seated at a massive oak table, surrounded by knotty pine cabinets mounted on three of the walls. Opposite the door, covered by lacy curtains, was a long window. Which looked out into the woods behind the house.

"You have a beautiful house Mrs.... I mean Freddie," Mona commented, as she sat at the table waiting while Freddie put a pot of tea on to boil.

"Thank you very much Mona," Freddie replied. "The house was already here when I bought the inn. It was pretty run down though. Bobby fixed it up after he bought into the business, and we became partners."

"Oh.... He did a wonderful job. Did he buy you all of this nice wood furniture?"

"No, as a matter of fact. He didn't Mona," Freddie said. "He made it all himself."

"Wow! You're kidding."

"No," Freddie replied, pointing with her free hand towards the window. "There's a shop out back with all sorts of woodworking tools in it. They came with the property. I think the former owner operated a cabinet shop in addition to the inn."

She turned from the stove, and smiled in Mona's direction. "He must have needed the extra income. The inn doesn't really make enough to pay for itself. But with my late husbands pension, and what Bobby makes on the road, we do all right."

Freddie turned back to her tea pot, and poured two cups of steaming hot water over the tea bags, before bringing them to the table.

Pointing again, she said, "The sugar is in the bowl, on the counter behind you; if you want some, Mona."

Then as she lifted her own cup, blowing on the liquid between words, to cool it down to drinking temperature, Freddie looked at the girl across from her, and questioned, "Now. Why don't you tell me how you came to be traveling with Bobby?"

__________________________

TWENTY FOUR

Until he noticed him look at his watch, Billy had paid little attention to how long he and the other man had been sitting, drinking coffee and talking. Glancing up at the clock above the door, he realized that the two hours Dave said he could spend visiting had already passed.

Once Dave had started him talking about himself, the other man had sat in silence, and listened as Billy recounted his life. Now embarrassed at his unexpected confession, Billy was about to excuse himself and let Dave go on to his job.

Before he could do so, Dave said, "I'll never make it to work on time now Billy, hang on for a minute, while I use the phone. I'm just going to call in and take the night off. Hell, I need a long weekend anyway."

After a short absence, Dave came back with more coffee, and began talking as soon as he had re-seated himself.

"Billy," he said. "You've had a very interesting life, up to this point. You kind of make me feel like I've been a hermit all of mine. Although, when I finally sobered up, I thought I would never be able to live with myself again. I imagined I had done some terrible things to a lot of people, and I sat around dwelling on it, until I nearly drove myself insane. But I somehow managed to hang on to my sobriety long enough to meet someone with enough time away from the bottle to council me, and lend a little guidance from time to time if I ask for it. I wasn't as open right away about my life as you have been but, eventually, I found my self confessing all of my horrible doings to that person." He paused, and took a sip of his coffee.

"This fellow sat and listened politely, not interrupting or adding any comments, just nodding every once in a while to let me know he was still awake, and when I was finished; do you know what he said to me?" Dave ask.

"No," Billy answered unnecessarily, shaking his head.

"He said, 'You know Dave, the things you did weren't all that bad. More than likely, the people you've offended have already forgiven you, and are just glad to see you sober.'

"He told me if these things really bothered me all that much that I should find these people and apologize to them. So that's what I did."

"I've got a whole lot of people to find and apologize to Dave. There's a couple that I can't do anything for," Billy said.

"That's all right. You've got a lot of time," Dave replied, waving aside Billy's objection. "When I went to them to try to make amends, I found--to my surprise--that the majority of the people I thought I had done so much harm to could not even remember the events I was so concerned about. Most of the ones who could recall being imposed upon by yours truly readily forgave me for whatever transgression I had fostered upon their lives. And. I found that the rest, those who could not bring themselves to find forgiveness, weren't worth the trouble anyway."

"You know. You're right Dave, just talking to you about my life has made me feel better. I really haven't meant to hurt anybody, you know? Life was just a big party to me until my manager forced me to come in here, but it's been coming to an end for a long time now anyway. I mean, it was just no fun anymore. Things were starting to weigh me down."

Dave sat for a moment without replying, then said, "Billy most of what you've told me is nothing more than most drunks, and drug addicts, have done with their lives. We really had no choice Billy. Those are the circumstances and actions which come with the territory. All of us lie. We cheat, and we steal. All of us hurt the ones who love us, and hurt ourselves even more. Some of us die."

Watching, gauging Billy's reaction, he said, "Some of us kill."

"I know," Billy whispered. Looking down at the table top now, ashamed to look the other man in the eyes.

"There are those who kill without any remorse whatsoever. For money. For lust, or just because they're crazy. But the sad truth is: much of the time some drunkard in a blackout goes on a rampage, and shoots someone or runs over them with his car, and wakes up the next day without any recollection of the event at all. Sometimes he wakes up in jail. Other times, in a hospital. There are even those people out there who wake up at home the next day, see their car, and convince themselves they ran over a dog. They clean up the mess, and are never caught. But they have to live with it Billy."

"I know," Billy said. "I've been going over and over in my head about the people in that car the night after the concert. I wish I could go back and change it."

Billy leaned across the table. Now he did meet Dave's stare, and demanded imploringly. "Don't you see that Dave? I would give all the money I have, if I could do that!"

"Well you can't Billy. You can't do that at all. What you can do, is let it eat at you until it kills you too. Or. You can try to go on with your life, and make the best amends to the living that you possibly can."

__________________________________

TWENTY FIVE

Mona had gone through two pots of tea, a ham sandwich, and a stack of cookies, while her and Freddie sat at the kitchen table. Freddie had said little as she listened to the girl recount the events leading up to her being where she was at present.

When Mona completed her tale, Freddie ask, "So what happened with your aunt in Kentucky? I must have missed something somewhere." She laughed at her self, and said, "Maybe I wasn't listening or I could just be getting old and senile."

"No," Mona replied. "I kind of skipped over that. My aunt really doesn't understand at all. She kept insisting that I go back home. That things could be worked out. As if it were my fault the old man was a pervert."

"You must realize Mona," Freddie advised. "A lot of times people don't want to admit those kind of things can actually go on in their own families."

"Yes I know. My own mother pretended it wasn't true for the longest time, and when you're just a little kid you're stuck in the middle with no way out."

"Anyway. When I heard my aunt talking on the phone, to my mother I got out of there, and just headed west to find... well anyway. No one knows how much I hate my father. No one."

Mona had not mentioned Billy to Freddie, in fact, had pushed her quest to find him to the back of her mind, as she had become wrapped in her adventure. Riding in the big semi truck, and sharing the road, and all of his stories, with Bobby. That desire resurfaced now and she determined that whatever else became of her she would complete that task, and extract some measure of satisfaction from her life. She decided to keep that to herself for now. Eventually she would know the truth one way or the other.

Just then, they heard Bobby come in through the front door, and Freddie said, "That's enough storytelling for one day, I think. I'll show you where you can sleep, and then you can decide what to do with yourself tomorrow. I don't see any reason to rush about things now that you've been on your own this long. Maybe Bobby and I can help you if you would like us to."

Mona had not realized just how tired she actually was, until Freddie mentioned sleep. Now exhaustion threatened to overcome her as they walked into the living room. Mona muttered a, "Good night," and a, "Thank you for helping me out," to Bobby. Then followed as Freddie led her down the hallway and showed her the room she was to sleep in.

Mona let out a gasp of surprise, as she entered the bedroom. Looking about, trying to take it all in, she thought she had walked into a fairy tale.

The walls of the room were papered with a floral print lavender wall paper. There were curtains to match and, in front of the window, sat the most beautiful canopy bed Mona had ever seen in her life, actually, she had never seen one, except on television. Against the opposite wall, were matching dresser, and vanity.

She turned to Freddie, in awe, and said, "Oh, I couldn't possibly sleep here. Who ever this room belongs to would be mad if you let somebody else use it."

Freddie smiled, and said, "This room belongs to me, and I'll let whomever I like sleep in it. It was my daughters room before she moved away. I've just never saw any reason to change the furniture. No one uses the room now, so it's all yours."

She started out the door, then turned back, and said, "The shower is the first door right outside this one. The linen is in the closet in the washroom. We'll talk in the morning Mona. For now, you just get yourself some rest."

Mona showered and got into the wonderful bed, thinking she would not be able to sleep, but was sleeping almost as soon a she lay down. At one point during the night she awakened, thinking she had heard her name. She lay and listened for a while, then, realizing the sounds were Bobby and Freddie talking in the next bedroom, turned over and went back to sleep.

_______________________________

TWENTY SIX

Billy completed his time at the hospital.

Like some fledgling bird, for the first time, testing his wings as he departed from the comfort of that nest: Aiming at the sky, but reaching to the ground. Learning as he fell, he...

Flew away.

__________________________________

TWENTY SEVEN

Mona fell into the easy rhythm of life at the Bed and Breakfast. Had it not been for the reminders of the emotional scars she wore secretly hidden within her heart, she could have well forgotten the past, and looked only at the future life seemed to hold before her now. Tantalizing in its new uncertainty.

Before this time, her life had always contained that same uncertainty. Would tomorrow bring more hurt and anger? More resentment? Another disillusionment, a stronger conviction that all the dreams of little girls were just that? Nothing more than fantasies and fairy tales?

And now that she was here, physically in that dream, in a place that might well be somewhere over a rainbow, the tornado of the past safely far behind her. She watched the horizon for storm clouds and wicked witches. She made sure to never click her heels together.

And in the eye of that new uncertainty remained the truth.

Mona knew. Soon. She would have to meet the wizard.

The lessons of her childhood taught her still, and she clung to reason which did not apply to the reality of today.

Mona accepted her benefactors hospitality and, openly, did not question why they had taken her into their lives. Still living in that secret place in her heart, where she resided safe from all the pain, she peered over the walls from time to time, expecting to see motives for Bobby's and Freddie's behavior other than those expressed in the open. She began to learn new lessons.

____________________________________

TWENTY EIGHT

For a time, after leaving the treatment center, Billy threw himself into the challenge of staying clean and sober. Every waking moment was a struggle. With himself, and with the demons of his past, which haunted him incessantly. Then he began to find forgiveness for the man he had been, and hope for the one he might become, if he allowed himself the time he would need to grow up.

Jack hounded him constantly about finishing his next album, and going back on tour. Billy only smiled, and commented that he might never tour again. Then added, to calm his frustrated manager, that the recordings would be completed in time to meet the deadline for the completion of the album. True to his word, he was in the studio the next day putting down the tracks for his upcoming release.

This was a new experience for Billy, and for the other members of the band as well. He had never played on stage, or recorded any of his music, without being at least somewhat drunk. Before now, Billy had always claimed to be unable to relax, and let things flow, if he didn't have a drink or two first. Of course, Billy never stopped with a drink, or two.

After leaving the treatment center in Des Moines, Billy, recalling his conversation with Jack in the hotel room in Omaha, had decided to make an album whose theme would be an apology to the women in his life. Most of the harm Billy had inflicted upon others had been to the multitudes of women he had known. From the depths of a sensitivity toward others, a part of his makeup that until now he had denied owning, Billy spent the time between recording sessions, writing new songs. All of which expressed a tenderness, and regret, never before spoken in his music. He could not meet each one personally, but hoped those of his lost loves who heard would accept his next album, as the best apology he could give. Billy was sure this theme had been used before--back in the 1970's--by some heavy metal band. But that was over twenty years ago and, indeed, was an entirely different class of music. Although, now that he thought about it, perhaps that performer had been driven by much the same motives which now directed Billy.

The recording sessions went smoother than at any other time Billy and his group had been in the studio. The album was completed in less than a month, and once again Jack was harping about going on tour. Billy absolutely refused to consider it, enduring several confrontations with his manager over the issue until, eventually, Jack left in a huff and refused to talk to Billy for several days.

Billy was relaxing on the deck behind his sprawling ranch house, sipping a glass of tea, and watching the sun begin to set behind the Rocky Mountains. Until these last few weeks he had never truly appreciated the beauty of the view from his own back yard. Up to now the only use Billy had ever put his deck and yard to was as an outdoor theater and party room for the bashes he threw. Just another place where his own band could get wild and jam with the other musicians Billy would invite to his parties.

A part of Billy missed that life. He guessed in some way he always would. But he could look at it now and see that there wasn't anything in that lifestyle which could ever be good to him again. Sometime, over the last few months, he had killed off that part of himself which just didn't give a damn, or else had somehow awakened the part which did.

More and more he became convinced that, after the sale of this album, he would never make another. Beginning to think that maybe it was time he gave some goodness back to the world, in exchange for the years of advantage he had taken of it, Billy only wondered to himself if he would be able to find the strength to carry on.

As he sat musing the phone rang. At first he started to not answer then, on impulse, picked up the receiver.

"Hello," he said, as he lifted the phone to his ear.

"Billy! I'm glad you're home. This is Jack. How have you been? Everything OK?" "Yes Jack," he replied, with a chuckle. "Everything is all right, and I'm still sober. If that's what you mean."

"Come on Billy. You know I wouldn't ask if I didn't care about you--"

"Yea. About a million bucks worth a year Jack."

Exasperated, Jack retorted, "Now that's not true Billy; I was your friend long before you had any money. As a matter of fact, in case you don't recall, I'm the one who put up the money to finance your first album!"

"That's right Jack," Billy said. "You cared about me. It's just funny that you didn't care as much about all the other guys, playing in that same club back then."

"They were losers Billy! None of them were ever going anywhere. They didn't have your talent."

"That's exactly what I mean Jack."

"OK Billy; I like you, and your money."

Before Billy could cut him off again, Jack launched into the subject he had called to talk about.

"Now listen Billy. Don't hang up on me. All right?"

"OK Jack, I won't hang up on you."

"Good man! OK... I know you don't want to go on tour right now, but I got an offer that might be even better, and it'll only take a couple of days. Are you listening?"

"Yes Jack. I'm listening."

"Listen. Cable Music Channel had another band booked to do a two hour special next week--live mind you--and their lead singer was in a motor cycle accident day before yesterday. I've got it sewed up for us to take the show. If you'll do it."

Billy thought for a moment, caught off guard by the news. "Well, I don't know Jack. It's kind of short notice; do you think we'll be able to put it together?"

"Sure we can Billy," Jack shot back. In his element now. Bringing his talent for pitching a sale into play. "Live performance is your forte buddy. This will get us all the publicity for the new album we need, and it's a lot easier than doing a tour.

"Come on. Help me out here kid. You let me down on the tour. You owe it to me," Jack said, as a final inducement.

"All right Jack. If the band agrees; we'll do it. But this is my final show. I'm taking at least a year off, whatever I decide to do after that. Right now I've got to get my life together."

Jack said, "Thanks kid. I'll never forget this. I gotta go now. I've got to call the TV guys back before they get someone else."

Billy smiled as he heard the click over the phone line. Poor Jack, he thought. He's not going to know what to do when I quit performing.

__________________________________

TWENTY NINE

The end of August was closing in, and the summer was blanketing the land with a final blast of heat. As if it knew the winter snows were waiting just around the corner. To steal, for another frigid time, those days of glorious freedom and sunlight which, for just these few short months of each year, allowed the world to fill itself with life and joy.

Seeking some small comfort from their shade, Freddie and Bobby were walking under the trees along the trails which wound through the woods behind the inn. They came to the place, under a massive old oak tree, where they customarily stopped and rested a while on the natural bench created when the trunk of a falling tree had landed before the oak. Usually, neither of the pair spoke aloud when walking the woods together. They would simply stroll together, side by side, holding hands and enjoying each others companionship amid the comforts of the forest, until the tranquility of that place would suffuse their souls enough to endure a return to the struggle of survival. Refreshed, and once again at peace with the inevitability of living.

Today however, Bobby was in a talkative mood, and had been steadily chatting about trivialities since he and Freddie had left the inn. They sat for a while, as much from habit as actually being tired enough to need a rest. Bobby, looking down at his feet, and kicking at the leaves lying on the floor of the forest, and Freddie, saying nothing, waiting patiently for him to get out whatever was on his mind.

Bobby said, "Freddie. You an' me... well, we've been partners for a good while now."

Freddie sat there without speaking, waiting for him to continue. She had known from the beginning of their stroll that her friend had something on his mind, and had been biding her time, until he got it out in the open. Still, she was totally unprepared for what he said next.

"Well.... See here now," he said. "This ain't all that easy for me. I'm kinda awkward with things like this."

"Just say whatever is on your mind Bobby," Freddie encouraged him. "We've been good friends much longer than we've been business partners. I'm still your friend; before anything else."

"I know that Freddie. I count on it as much as I count on the sun comin' up in the mornin'," he replied. "I'm gonna get there. It's just takin' me a while is all."

Bobby sat once more without speaking, still staring at the ground, until he had recollected his thoughts and could go on again.

"The first time I come up around that curve and saw your place sittin' there--"

"It's your place too Bobby," she pointed out.

"Yea, but it wasn't then see. I'm tryin' to recollect who I was back then. I just ain't that same man anymore, and sometimes he seems like a stranger to me now."

Bobby looked up at Freddie and laughed. "I reckon I was pretty much of a mess back in those days. Hell, I was just drivin' that old truck I had at the time up and down the road out of habit. I didn't have no purpose, and I was all eat up inside over Marguerite and her family. I blamed myself for all that had happened, and figured if I had just stayed out of their lives, and left them alone, they would have been better off for it."

"I don't believe that is quite the truth Bobby."

"Yea, I guess I know that now. Anyhow, I didn't plan for anything bad to come into them peoples lives, but the night she was killed I was drivin' on about two hours sleep and conditions was bad to start with. But I was young, and figured I could make it in to Monterrey, so I just kept pushin'...," Freddie clutched his hand a little tighter, just to let him know she was still there, as he continued talking. "...and when I woke up in the hospital, and the doctors told me Marguerite hadn't made it, well... I knew it was my fault and started balmin' myself right then. I reckon I kind-a just kept on rollin' in that guilt for years after that. I guess I just truly got over it these last few months."

Reaching into his shirt pocket, Bobby removed a small box. Holding it in the palm of his hand, he looked into Freddie's eyes, and said, "Now I want you to know that one thing don't have nothin' to do with another here, and what I'm about to say comes from my heart, and not from anyplace else on this earth. Because I got just as much desire to never bring no bad into your life as I ever did with anyone else Freddie."

"I know that Bobby," she said. Now truly wondering where this strange conversation was actually leading to.

"Now see here. I been haulin' Marguerite around in my heart for all of these years, and when I met you, I never thought at the time we would ever get to be more than friends. After we did get to be a little more than that--"

"Quite a bit more; I'd say."

"Yea. You're right... when we did get to be more than friends, and I ain't speakin' about bein' partners in the business, I mean... well, what we are today. I didn't want to short you none Freddie, and I just didn't feel it would be right and proper for me to make you promises beyond our friendship as long as I was still harborin' all that stuff inside myself."

Bobby paused, took in a deep breath of the clean forest air, and then launched himself into the completion of his mission, before fear of rejection could dissuade him.

He said, "I buried Marguerite in my heart out there on the road this summer Freddie and, like I said, one thing don't have nothin' to do with another. I just want you to know that there ain't no one else in my heart but you, and there really hasn't been for the longest time now. I just didn't see it somehow.

"When I seen that little girl out there in the dark at that truck stop over in Illinois, just waiting to be snatched up by the evil lurkin' out in the world these days, an' I was able to get her safe here--where I knew you was waitin' to straighten the whole mess out for me.... Well... I figured out that I had never, on purpose, done no evil in nobody's life, and I realized where most of the good in mine had come from all this time, and I knew then that it was hurtin' you more, me holdin' part of myself back from you, than it ever would if I was just to clean turn loose of the past and live in right now where I belong."

Realizing he himself wasn't quite sure just what it was exactly that he had said in the last few minutes, Bobby turned to Freddie and questioned: "Is any of this mess I'm sayin' makin' any kind of sense to you Freddie?"

"Yes dear Bobby," she replied. "It all makes perfect sense to me. Please go on."

"Well that's a relief. Because I'm sure confusin' myself."

Releasing his hold on Freddie's hand, Bobby slipped from his seat on the tree trunk, and knelt on one knee before her in the grass, opened the box and removed the engagement ring which was inside, and took Freddie's hand again in his own.

"Freddie," he said. "I've been in love with you for the longest time now, and stupid as I am for puttin' it off this long... Well... what it is... I want...."

"Yes Bobby, I'll marry you, you silly man," she said.

Laughing with joy, she took his face between her hands and kissed him on the forehead. Then she held out her left hand and said, "You have to put the ring on my finger to make it official Bobby."

As they walked back toward home, Bobby turned to Freddie and ask, "You know I said one thing don't have nothin' to do with another, and I meant that. But. What are we gonna do about Mona?"

"Well Bobby," she replied. "I have an idea which might work out just fine. Especially now that we're going to be married...."

*

Mona was watching television when Bobby and Freddie returned from their walk. She could tell they had enjoyed themselves, by the way they were laughing and tugging at each other, as they came through the door of the cottage. Then she jumped up in surprise as Freddie came prancing over to her, holding out her hand like a school girl who has just been ask to go steady with some boy.

Mona stood up to look, and Freddie said, "Look Mona. Bobby ask me to marry him! Isn't that wonderful?"

__________________________________

THIRTY

Bobby left his semi at the truck plaza, located just east of the exit off of I-65, and drove the rental car he had leased from Avis on into the small town. Never having been to Columbus, Indiana before, he spent some time searching the streets before he located the address he wanted to find. If everything went according to plan he would be back on the road in a few hours.

Once he found the house he was looking for, Bobby pulled over to the curb, and checked the folder lying in the seat next to him. He checked for the papers Freddie's lawyer had drawn up, and given to him, before the start of his trip, making sure he had remembered to bring them. After that he sat in the car, looking at the house, and working up the nerve to get out and go ring the door bell.

The place was exactly as Mona had described it to him. One of those old turn of the century structures, with a large front porch running the front length of house--complete with sagging roof and peeling strips of paint hanging from the banisters. The grass looked to have been mowed at least once this year, but it must have been in the early spring, and looked to Bobby like it was due for the second cutting. There were no junk cars sitting up on blocks. But then, he hadn't seen the back yard, so who could tell?

Tucking the folder with the papers in it under his arm, Bobby eased his bulk out of the rental car, and made his way across side walk leading from the curb to the front porch of the house. The cement crumbling, the slabs cracked and tilting from underground root growth, spoke as much about the condition of the residence, as did the yard and peeling paint. He climbed the three steps up onto the porch and opened the screen door. After searching for, but not being able to locate the button for a door bell, he prepared to knock. Before he could complete the motion, the door was flung violently open, and Bobby stood confronting a slovenly looking, half bald, out of shape character who--from the smell of him--had not bathed since the last time he shaved. Possibly a week or two.

"What the Sam Hill do you want this time?" the man yelled in Bobby's face. As if he suspected that anyone who came to his door might be deaf. "I thought I told you guys to stay the hell off of my property! We ain't buyin' any! Ain't nobody in this house plannin' on dyin', so we don't want no damn life insurance! We don't need no frickin' vacuum cleaners either! We got a perfectly good broom. And..." he concluded, poking Bobby in the chest with his index finger, for emphasis. "...we ain't been to church, and don't have no plans on goin'. So don't ask me for no damn donations!"

Bobby, ignoring the offending finger as best he could, said, "Yes sir. That's all right with me.... I don't have no real strong plans about invitin' you either. But, if you could move your finger--before it gets itself in trouble--maybe I could talk to Mrs. Merrill for a minute and then I'll be movin' on--"

At that, the man took a step back into the living room, and gave Bobby an appraising look over as he interrupted him:

"The only one likely to get into trouble around here, buddy, is you. I think you really got the wrong house. My name ain't no Merrill. Name's Sylvester. Zack Sylvester. And my wife's name ain't no Merrill either. Used to be Merrill. But that was before she married me," he declared. Turning the attacking finger about, to poke himself in the chest with it.

Then as if a light had come on in his head (Bobby would have guessed a dim one, had the thought occurred to him.) he ask, "Say! You ain't no bill collector, are you? If that slitch has been out opening charge accounts again, and usin' her maiden name, I'll kill her. I done told every store in town not to give her any more credit on my name." Turning to face back into the house, he called out, "Linsey! Get your ass down here! I want to know--right now--what this clown is doin' comin' around here tryin' to collect money from me. And you damn well better have a good explanation too!"

Bobby, having tolerated as much of his bad manners, and foul mouth, as he was going to, shoved his way past the offensive monstrosity, and stepped, into the living room. Turning to once more confront his unwilling host, he attempted to explain the purpose of his visit.

"Mr. Sylvester! I am not here to collect money. In fact, I didn't come to talk to you at all. The truth is: I was wonderin' if I could talk to your wife about Mona...."

"Mona!"

Bobby looked up to see who had spoken. The outburst had come from a weary looking woman; who couldn't have been past her middle thirties, but looked half again as old. Whose hair might have once been blond, but was now a dirty dish water color, streaked with gray. As he met her gaze, he looked into eyes that bore the tale of many sleepless nights.

Shutting the man, Zack, out of his world, he moved on into the house, until he confronted the woman, and ask, "Are you Linsey--that is--Mona's mother?"

The woman took two trembling steps forward, and clutched at Bobby's shoulders, answering tearfully. "Yes. Yes I am. Is she all right? Do you know where she is?" Releasing her grip on his shoulders, and covering her mouth, as if to prevent the words from coming out, she said, "Oh my God.... She's not de--"

Bobby looked around for a place to lay the folder, settling for depositing it atop the pile of magazines and newspapers stacked on the coffee table. Then, took the woman's hands in his own, and said, "Your daughter is fine Mam. She's staying with a real nice lady, in Kansas. That's what I came to talk to you about. You see--"

Bobby had forgotten about the man standing behind him, until he felt the grip on his shoulder, and was pulled about, then faced once more with his disgusting visage.

"Listen you," Zack intoned. "You ain't bringin' that no good tramp back up into my house, disrupting things around here again. You only get to call the Cop's on me one time, and still expect to live up under my roof. The little slut can just stay wherever it is she's run off to. And, good riddance is what I say!"

Bobby clutched the mans hand in his own, applying pressure until he heard the small bones of Zack's fingers begin to crack, and saw the others jaw clench in pain. Then, flinging the offending appendage from his shoulder, advised, "You all ought to just go on over there, and sit down on that couch, and keep your slimy hands to yourself partner. Because, I ain't no defenseless little girl, and I doggone sure don't need no baseball bat to lay a couple of knots along side your head."

Zack made as if to grab him again, but Bobby gave him a push in the center of his chest with the flat of his hand, which sent the other man reeling backwards in the previously indicated direction. Zack caught himself, and stood there in the middle of the floor for a moment, as if going to try again. Then, giving up, he turned and walked over to the couch. On the way, picking up the beer which he had apparently been drinking before sitting it down on the end table to get up and answer the door.

Leaving Zack to sit and mumble to himself, about the unfairness of it all, Bobby turned back to Mona's mother, and ask if there was a place where they might sit down, and talk without being disturbed.

She led him into the kitchen and, after seating him at the table and offering to put on some coffee, sat down herself to listen while he explained the reason for his being there.

__________________________________

THIRTY ONE

Bobby was on the road again for several weeks. The entire time he was gone, Mona noticed that Freddie acted rather more nervous than the girl had previously seen her behave when he was out trucking. Mona thought perhaps Bobby was hauling some hazardous load, or traveling to a part of the country where Freddie knew the roads to be dangerous to drive on. She was relieved when Bobby finally returned to the inn, and Freddie was back to her more relaxed self once again. Even though--while they both appeared to be happy--for the last several days, since his return home from this latest trip, Bobby and Freddie, had been acting rather strange. Mona attributed the condition to their oncoming marriage and, smiling to herself, had put the matter from her thoughts.

Mona was alone in the house. She turned on the television, but paid it little attention. Instead, she sat preoccupied with her own personal plight, considering what she was to do with herself. Mona knew she could not stay with Bobby and Freddie forever and, with September approaching, soon it would be time for enrollment in school. Surely someone who was aware of her presence at the inn would question why she was not attending school.

No. It wouldn't be long until she would have to move on.

Bobby and Freddie were off about some business or other, and Mona was startled by the unexpected ringing of the door bell. She didn't think Freddie or Bobby was expecting visitors, and any passers by looking for a room would have inquired at the office, not at the owners private residence. Turning the television off, she stood, walked over and looked out the window to see who might have come calling. As she pulled the curtain back enough to peer around the fringe, Mona saw a woman who she did not recognize. She was dressed in a skirt and blazer, looking like someone who belonged in an office somewhere, and not out here in the woods. Standing next to her was a lone deputy, who was dressed in the brown uniform that seems to be the national standard for county police everywhere.

Monas first thought was that, somehow, they had found her, and come to take her back to Indiana. Then, recalling just how far removed from her place of birth she was, thought it very unlikely that any law enforcement agency had been able to trace her here. She didn't think anyone went to that much trouble over a teenage girl who had run away from an orphanage. Once it occurred to her that something might have happened to Freddie and Bobby, she dropped the curtain from her grasp, ran over and flung the door open in the visitors faces.

Startling them both, with her sudden appearance, Mona inquired breathlessly, "What happened? Bobby and Freddie are all right; aren't they?"

"Whoa there young lady!" the deputy said. Putting his hand up, as if to stop her from crashing into an invisible wall between himself and the door. "As far as I know, Bobby and Freddie are doing just fine."

"In fact," he said, looking at the woman standing next to him, as if for confirmation, "myself, and Mrs. Williams, are supposed to be meeting the both of them here, at four o'clock."

"Well Mark," Mrs. Williams said, glancing at the watch on her wrist. "We are about a half an hour early."

Turning to Mona she questioned, "Perhaps we could come in and wait for them?" Mona was beginning to become more than a little suspicious of this situation and, for lack of knowing what else to say, hastily blurted out, "I don't think I should let anyone in the house."

She looked over at the deputy, and then back to the woman. "I know you're a policeman, and you seem like a very nice lady, but still I don't think I should...."

Mona was saved from having to deal further with her unexpected guests unaided, by the sight of Freddie's car pulling up the drive.

"Oh good!" she cried. "Here they come now. I'll just go back inside and let all of you--"

Stepping forward, and gently taking Mona by the arm the deputy interrupted her, and said, "No. Actually I think we should all of us go inside together, as our business with Freddie and Bobby concerns you Miss Merrill."

Upon realizing the officer knew her name, Mona knew her time of freedom and happiness were coming to an end. Her intentions had been to get inside the house, gather her belongings, and head out the back door as quickly as possible. Whether knowingly or not, the deputy had expertly detained her, and prevented any immediate escape. Once everyone was inside, and seated around the living room of the cottage, the woman introduced herself, plunging immediately into the business at hand.

She said, "Mr. McGraw. Ms. McKinnley. We have already met. This gentleman accompanying me is Deputy Sheriff Mark Tubbman. He is currently assigned to the County Police Departments Child Welfare Division. The two of us have worked together in the past, and Deputy Tubbman is very familiar with procedures in these matters, so do not hesitate to ask any questions of him which may come to mind."

She paused, to give Freddie a personalized look of annoyance, before continuing to address the group. "My name is Rita Williams, and I am a Child Psychologist, employed by the county to attend to the welfare of our counties homeless, and abused children. I realize this is a very unusual case, and some of the standard procedures have not been followed. I personally do not agree with this action--all of these procedures have been designed explicitly to insure the well being of the child involved, and should be followed--however, I have been overruled in this matter by my superior."

From her previous experience, over the last several weeks, and even more so now in her own home, Freddie was finding this woman to be an annoyance she would have preferred doing without in her life. But knew she must deal with her civilly, so restrained herself from the reply which immediately came to mind, and said instead, "As you yourself have just stated Mrs. Williams, this is an unusual case you're dealing with today. Bobby and I--with the much appreciated assistance of your office--have gone to great lengths to insure the legality of our actions. My attorney has assured me that, if Mona herself is willing to remain with us, there are absolutely no legal obstacles in her path."

"Yes. Your attorney," Mrs. Williams commented. "A very knowledgeable man I'm told. Without a doubt, he knows where to spread the grease, and insure the wheels roll in the direction he desires them to."

Freddie silently cheered him on, when Bobby commented, "Sometimes you have to get your hands a little greasy to get anything done. Folks, that's afraid to get a little dirt on their selves, miss out on a lot of the good things in life."

Turning to Mona, Bobby said, "Now Mona, before you get any more confused than you already are, I want you to know that me and Freddie had intended to be here before the Sheriff and this woman showed up. We was goin' to explain all this to you, so's there would be no surprise in it for you when they got here."

He sighed and gave the girl a forlorn look. "I'm sorry it didn't work out that way. But don't you worry none, everything is gonna be all right. You'll see."

Paying little attention to Bobby's concern for the young girls confusion, Mrs. Williams launched into a defense of her own behavior. "Well. I only brought the subject up because it seems rather strange that a runaway child from another state could wind up here in your home, with no one the wiser, and then have my office draw up adoption papers, and assign the case to me with no attempt, whatsoever, to return the girl to her rightful parents. It seems a shame to go to all this trouble over a child from another state entirely, who has parents of her own, when so many children right here in Kansas need to be taken into good homes, and are left un-cared for. It seems to me that, if you had a desire to take in needful children, there are plenty of opportunities right here in your own back yard."

Deputy Tubbman held his hands up, and said, "Now folks. I think we've wandered a little bit off the subject here."

He gave the Psychologist a withering look, and mouthed silently, "The girl!" Then said, aloud, "I assure you Mrs. Williams, the Sheriffs office was notified immediately the young lady turned up here at the inn. We ascertained that no warrants had been issued for her arrest, and then contacted the Indiana State Police Department--notifying them of the childs whereabouts--and awaited their instructions, as to the disposition of the girl."

"That is all well and good," Mrs. Williams interjected. "But. The child still should have been taken into protective custody, and placed in a good home. For her own protection."

Looking as exasperated as he was beginning to sound, the deputy tried to steer the conversation back to the original subject. "Mrs. Williams... please! We have already been all through this at your office. We--that is myself and the Sheriff--had already determined that Miss Merrill was in a good home, and seemed to have every intention of staying right where she was at the time. We saw no immediate need to remove her from this house. Which brings us back to the issue at hand."

Turning now to Mona, he continued to speak. "Shortly after your arrival in Kansas, or as near as we can determine, The Douglas County Sheriffs Department was contacted, by Mrs. McKinnley, and notified of your presence in her residence. She informed us that you had approached her voluntarily, and inquired about staying at her inn for a while. Is that correct?"

Mona, feeling somewhat betrayed by the arrival of this news, nevertheless, not wishing to get Freddie or Bobby in any trouble, replied, "Yes, that is true Deputy. No one made me do anything against my will. They've all been very nice to me here."

Tubbman, beaming a smile at the girl, said, "I've known Freddie and Bobby for some years now Miss--"

"You can call me Mona."

"Very well. I shall. As I said, Mona, I've known these two people for a long time now, and there was little doubt in my mind that you were being well cared for as long as you were with them. Well now. With the assistance of her attorney, Mrs. McKinnley has arranged for the State of Kansas to assume your guardianship from the State of Indiana. It seems that your mother has signed the appropriate papers abdicating her rights of parental guardianship. Providing that this is also your wish Mona, that is: If you agree to it. The State of Kansas has appointed Mrs. McKinnley as your guardian, for a period of six months. Subject to review at the end of that time, with the stipulation that if this arrangement proves a satisfactory one, adoption proceedings may then be initiated, provided that both parties--that meaning yourself and Mrs. McKinnley--instruct the courts that such is your desire." Mona was speechless. The deputy waited several moments, and then ask her, "Is everything I've said to you clear, and understandable, Mona?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm just so surprised by all of this. I mean this isn't what I expected at all...." Mona stopped, tears running down her cheeks, to reach for the tissues on the coffee table, and Freddie quickly leaned past Bobby to hand the girl the box.

"Do I have to make up my mind what to do right this minute? Can I have a day or two to decide?"

Freddie said, "You take just as much time as you need honey. No one is pushing you to do anything."

__________________________________

THIRTY TWO

Billy was already seated on the stage when the lights came up. The audience was smaller than the mass of people he was used to attending one of his concerts. Instead of a concert hall, this performance was being given in a large television studio. The room was designed more with an eye to the TV viewing audience than to those persons in attendance on site. Actually the audience was only there for the benefit of the cameras, and to provide the live performance sound the station wanted for the broadcast, being beamed out to the satellites and then piped, via cable vision, into the homes of the viewers.

Billy didn't care about any of that, he loved performing before people, and would have recorded all of his albums live, if he had been allowed his own way in the matter. His producers, and Jack, had always won out however, and insisted on studio recordings for his CD's. This was the first time the band had ever made a live television appearance. Of course, all of Billy's concerts had been filmed, but those tapes were later edited and re-mixed for commercial use. This was an entirely new animal for Billy and the rest of the group.

They waited, as they had been coached, watching the video monitors at the sides of the stage, and listening for the announcers cue to come over the stage monitors and let them know it was time to begin the show. Billy knew there would be an announcer, to introduce them to the television audience, and lead them into the commercial breaks. He could hear none of this; only those messages explicitly intended for the band came over the stage monitors, and no one other than those on stage would hear those instructions. To the people in the crowd, and the ones watching on television, the entire broadcast would seem to flow from beginning to end in a natural sequence of un-choreographed events.

When Billy saw the time flash on the monitor, and heard the announcer call out thirty seconds, he signaled the band to get ready to go into their first song, and began counting off the seconds in his head. The red light at the foot of the stage flashed on and off. The house lights dimmed. The footlights and the overhead spots came up, highlighting the group for the cameras sending the show out to the waiting viewers. He led the band into one of the new songs. The title track of the new album they had recorded only two weeks earlier:

"All my time is stolen moments.
Living in this life that's
touched by you.

"Like two clocks that tick together.
The beating of one heart that
should be two.

"I would give you all my moments.
You would give me yours if
you could choose.

"Living in these stolen moments:
The rest of time is nothing.
Much to loose...."

Billy, and the rest of the band, had worked with the shows directors until they had timed all of the material to be played so that none of their performance ran into time reserved for commercial breaks. He had also left air time allotted in which he was to address the audience and speak with them if he chose.

"That was the title track of our new album, which is to be released next week in record stores all across the country. The album is called 'Stolen Moments'. If you happen to be interested enough to buy it, by the time you've finished listening to all of the songs on it, I think you'll understand why."

He glanced over toward the wings, to check on how much time he had left, and continued: "I hope you stick around for the rest of our show tonight. We're going to play some more tracks from the new album. But don't worry, we're also going to do some of the old favorites you've all tuned in to hear."

Wiping his brow with the towel he kept on stage for that purpose, he concluded: "I know all of you would rather hear the band than listen to me talk, so I'll just say this one more thing, and then we'll go on with the show. This album is a very special one to me, partly because it came close to never getting done, and also because I've stolen a lot of moments from the people in my life. Some of them don't have any moments left. I just want to dedicate this album to all of those people whom I have harmed, and mistreated during my life. I especially want to dedicate it to Lisa Goodman, who gave all of the moments left to her in this world... to be with me for a time.

"I can't replace what was lost; I can only try to do better with the people I encounter in the future."

Billy paused again, and drank from the bottle of water sitting next to his guitar stand. He looked out over the portion of the audience visible to him through the glare of the stage lighting, held up the bottle, and said, "H-two-O. This is really good stuff; I should have tried it years ago, it might have changed my life. If Lisa's family is listening I want them to know I intend to do whatever I am able to make it up to them, and help them with their lives. I know that nothing I say can make up for what happened to their little girl. But. I want them to know that just knowing her has changed my life for the better. I only wish it hadn't cost her so much... for me to learn:"

"Put your heart into the notion
of a love big as an ocean.
Tell your mind to just imagine
dreams that really can come true.

"Tell your arms they can embrace me,
that no other will replace me,
and the lover they're embracing
is the only one for you.

"Tell your heart it can remember
summer love in cold December.
Tell yourself I do these things
and truly feel this love for you.

"Tell your lips
they can kiss my lips.
Tell your face now it can smile it's
what happy faces do...."

______________________________

THIRTY THREE

Mona was watching to the concert on Cable Music Vision. She had nearly missed seeing the show, only finding out it was on by accident, while thumbing through the channels, looking for something to watch. She had caught the tail end of the announcement, and heard the name Billy Tomorrow. Then had sat in front of the television for nearly an hour, waiting to hear the entire message again.

She hadn't known Billy was performing again. After hearing about his accident in Iowa, she had learned from the news reports that he was recuperating at his home in Colorado. That was why Mona had decided to hitchhike west: She planned to catch him at his ranch and confront him there.

She was puzzled by what she had seen of the show so far. This did not sound like the Billy Tomorrow, whose voice she had listened to repeatedly on her CD's. When he had spoken to the crowd during the musical break, the things he said, combined with his humble behavior, made her wonder what strange events had transpired in his life to change him from the arrogant, egotistical lunatic she had seen so often portrayed in the media. She watched the entire show, and sat silently for a few moments after the last song was over, contemplating the changes in Billy's music, and in the behavior of the man himself:

"My motive is love, and sadness.
My hope is joy and gladness.
To leave her where she grows,
not pluck the violent rose.

"To see her self in bloom.
Not wasted. In a room.
To let the beauty flower.
Not hold it for an hour.

"To let the beauty see
the gift she gives to me.
To give the gift she gives.
To let her beauty live...."

As the song came to its ending, Billy had whispered softly into the microphone: "I do know why...the rose has thorns."

Mona turned off the television, and went into her bed room. Opening the top drawer, she removed the papers from the Welfare Office, and laid them out on top of the dresser. She looked in her purse to find an ink pen. Smiling happily to herself as she did so, Mona signed the documents. Then took them into the kitchen, and left them on the dinette table with a note to Freddie:

Ever since I can remember, I've always

wanted it so. Now I don't have to go

chasing after the rainbow. Trying to

find out what I already know:

There's no place like home.

Mona

_______________________________

THIRTY FOUR

Billy avoided Jack after the concert, and left for home without telling anyone where he was going. He coerced one of the stage hands into assisting him in finding a back way out of the studio and made it to his car undetected. From there, he went to his hotel room; where he hid out until the next morning. As soon as the sun was up, he headed out to the air port, turned in the rental car, and caught the first flight back to Denver.

He had several days of peace and quiet, alone at his ranch, before Jack figured out where he was, and came calling. He was sitting out back, but heard the door bell through the open window in the kitchen.

Instead of going through the house, Billy walked around the outside, and came up to the front door from the drive next to the garage. When he saw Jack standing before the door, Billy waited, and mischievously let his friend ring the bell several more times, before making him aware of his presence.

"Jack, you are a persistent fellow. Aren't you?" he said. Turning to face the sound of Billy's voice, Jack replied, "Billy! Where the hell did you go off to after the show? I've been looking all over for you."

"I went to my hotel room to get some sleep. I was worn out." Billy waved his arm, and said, "Come on around back. I was just getting ready to watch the sunset. I've got some cold drinks in the cooler. You can join me if you like."

Not waiting to see if the other followed, or not, Billy turned and went back the way he had come. Left with no other choice, Jack hurriedly ran to catch up with him. Billy was already sitting in his deck chair, by the time Jack made it to the other side of the house. He motioned for his friend to take a seat.

"Billy I--"

"Not now Jack. Just sit back and enjoy the view. We'll go inside and talk in a bit. Get yourself a pop, or something; the cooler is right there next to that table."

Billy took a deep breath of the cool mountain air, let it out slowly, and said, "I never noticed it before Jack, but it gets cold up here real quick, after the sun is gone. I guess I was always too drunk to feel it; eh?"

"More than likely Billy."

"Yea. Well... we'll have to head inside in a minute, so let's enjoy it while we can."

*

Once they were inside, and seated before the fireplace--which he had recently cleaned out for the first time in years, and taken to lighting in the evening--Billy ask, "What can I do for you Jack? It must be important to get you to come all the way out here to see me."

"Come on Billy," Jack complained. "Don't play that stuff with me. You know why I'm here. We've got to promote this album, and get back into the swing of things. It's been over four years since you've done anything new. We've got to take advantage of your popularity, before it wears off again."

Billy stood, and walked over to the fireplace. He bent down, to poke at the burning logs within for a moment, before turning to stand with his back to the fire.

"Jack," he observed, looking at his old companion sadly. "You just don't get it do you? I'm taking the year off, and to tell you the truth, I doubt very much if I will get back into the music industry ever again. Not unless something really compelling comes along to change my mind, and I just don't see that happening Jack!"

Jack jumped up from his chair, and exclaimed loudly, "You can't mean that kid! I thought with you off the booze and all you'd get back to your old self, and we could start Rock and Rollin' again! What are you gonna do, if you don't sing in the band. That's been most of your whole life!"

"That's just exactly it Jack," Billy replied. "A: I'm not a kid anymore Jack. I'm not my old self, and I never will be, I wouldn't want to, and B: The band, and singing, have been my life for so long that I missed out on the real world. Jack, I don't even know how to live like normal people, and I'll damn sure never find out by staying in the band."

"But how are you going to make a living Billy; you don't have any other trade?"

"Jack, you of all people should know, I don't need to work for a living. I've got more money than I know what to do with now."

Billy walked over to the other man, put an arm around his shoulder, and began leading him toward the front door.

"Don't be greedy Jack. It's over. Take your share of the money and go retire somewhere, before this business kills you. We've been at it long enough. I don't know about you old friend, but I'm tired."

"Billy. Billy...."

"I'm not gonna talk about it any more Jack. And don't try to keep bothering me. I won't be here. I'm going on a retreat in Kansas, with this guy I met while I was in the hospital. Maybe I can learn how to be a human being while I'm there."

Billy pushed the other man gently out the door. Closed it behind him, and locked it.

______________________________

THIRTY FIVE

Mona learned from Freddie that every year, during the first week of September, the inn hosted a spiritual retreat. Sponsored, and ran, by a Preacher who had taken as his mission in life helping people recover from their addiction to alcohol and drugs.

Freddie explained that the Preacher had been driving past one day, and saw the inn. He had stopped, and come into the office, to approach Freddie with the idea of holding retreats there, for recovering alcoholics. September being a month when the inn did little business, they had agreed on that time of year and, for the last eight Septembers, the riotous revelry of several hundred stone cold sober drunks had filled the air around the place during the week of the retreat.

Freddie and Bobby had decided to be married outside, by the Gazebo, on the Sunday Morning beginning the retreat. The Reverend himself was to perform the ceremonies, and had stated that the event would fit perfectly with the theme of this years retreat which was: "Love and commitment."

Although Freddie didn't mention it to Mona; Reverend Lutz had informed her that a professional singer was attending this year, who could, perhaps, be persuaded to sing at their wedding, if she would like that. Freddie knew that many of the men who attended the retreat brought musical instruments with them, usually guitars, as radio and television were not allowed during the activity, This was a retreat from the world and its cares, the men had to entertain themselves by having "sing along's" around the campfires at night. It was unusual for a celebrity to attend one of the retreats at her inn, but it had happened in the past several times, and even though everyone attending pretended no special interest, as all were there through the same common bond, the persons presence did add a special touch to that years outing.

Mona didn't know who was more excited about the wedding, her or Freddie. Everyone in her life was getting a new family.

__________________________________

THIRTY SIX

From the first moment he had walked through the door of the old inn, Billy had felt a presence settle itself about his shoulders. He knew, without asking, that this was a place of love. The substance of that love permeated the atmosphere of the building and the land surrounding it.

When he met Reverend Lutz, Billy immediately saw that same essence in the man's eyes, and understood that which had drawn him to this place, and called him to use it for his purposes. The two were alike. The place, and the man. He saw it even more as the week progressed, and he was drawn into the activities of the retreat, and began to discover that same being, which had until now been hidden somewhere deep within his own tortured soul, begin to peek out at the world, and wonder if it too could belong.

But that came later.

When Dave had ask him about coming to the retreat with him, he and Billy had already been conversing over the phone nearly every day after Billy's release from the hospital, and although Dave could not have afforded the long distance phone bill, to Billy it was a minor expense. He would have paid much more than that, to keep the sobriety he had found. Billy flew to Des Moines, and rode with Dave in his car from there to the inn in Kansas. Dave had suggested that Billy just meet him there, but Billy had wanted to spend the time with his mentor, and get to know the man in person. Conversing over the phone was just not the same as spending time with another.

Dave had let him know on the ride about the couple at the inn getting married during the retreat, and had mentioned to him that Reverend Lutz had ask if he thought Billy might sing at the wedding. Billy had avoided giving an answer during the ride to the inn, but upon meeting the Preacher had volunteered with little hesitation.

Now here he stood watching the ceremony, and as he heard Reverend Lutz say, "I now pronounce you: Man and Wife," Billy stepped up onto the platform of the gazebo, began to gently strum his guitar, and sing. As he did, he noticed the eyes of the young teenage girl, who had stood as the bridesmaid during the ceremony, riveted on him. As if she might have been looking at a long lost brother:

"When two become one.
When dreaming is done.
Now loving is given
from one to another, by two:

"Now share in the laughter.
Now share in the tears.
Share with each other
the best of your years.

"Now loving is given
and always returned.
Now two hearts are one,
and two lives have turned.

"While sharing this moment,
a glimpse of your life,
we see you becoming
a husband and wife...."

Just as the song ended, the girl fainted.

Billy slung his guitar around behind his back, and caught her in his arms, before she could fall and hit her head. Then he stood there feeling foolish, until the Bride and Groom simultaneously burst into laughter, and the man said, in his country voice, "Well I guess the wedding ceremony is over. Take her into the hotel, and we'll get some smellin' salts, so's she don't miss out on the reception."

Then he and his new wife began laughing again as Billy carried the girl inside.

___________________________________

THIRTY SEVEN

Mona had enjoyed the ceremony and ritual that went along with Bobby and Freddie getting married. She had never before participated in such an event. The only thing she had to base her opinion of marriage upon was from observing her mother and the old man. So, until now, she hadn't thought highly of the institution.

Now being Freddie's Bridesmaid, watching the joy in the faces of these two people she was beginning to care very much about, had completely changed her view of families.

It could not have possibly turned out to be a better day, and Mona thought that her life was at last free from all the fear and pain. She felt the world steady beneath her feet. Sheltered by this new certainty, she readily embraced the day. Loosing her grip on the past. Letting it go entirely. Including Billy.

Then, just as all of these thoughts were going through her mind, and the preacher said that Bobby and Freddie were married, Mona looked up... and there he was . Standing right in front of her.

Billy began to sing a wedding song, and Mona felt herself begin to swirl about on the podium. As if she were indeed about to be swept up in a tornado. Either she had gone crazy; or reality had. It was more than she could comprehend.

The world went dark....

*

Mona thought she must be dreaming. For most of her young life she had waited for the day when she could confront Billy, and let him know the truth. She had wanted to use it against him. To destroy him with it. Now she had just that opportunity. In her mind she had always envisioned exactly how it would go.

She would wait until he was asleep, and then sneak into his room, and hold him at gun point. She would make him take his pants down so she could see for her self, and he would have to just stand there afraid and confused. Exactly the way she had to stand before the old man so many times.

*

She stood before him with the gun in her hand.

It wasn't pointed at him, the girl was just holding it hanging at her side. Almost as if she had forgotten she even had it with her.

Billy said, "Look Honey. I don't know what it was I did to piss you off. But I really am sorry."

When this had no effect on the girls posture he added, "Look; let me go and I'll call my manager. He can get his hands on more money than you've probably ever seen in your life. He'll give it to you, and we can just forget all this mess. Nobody will file charges or anything. You'll be able to walk away clean, and with money in your pocket to boot. What do you say?"

At first she didn't say anything. Then she said, "I'd really like to kill you Billy Tomorrow."

"Why? I don't even know you for Petes sake. I've never done anything to you!"

"Oh, but you have," the girl replied.

"Well what is it. Just tell me, and I'll make it up to you."

"I don't think you can do that Billy," the girl said. Then she did point the gun at him.

"Do you remember a girl named Linsey Merrill, Billy?"

He thought for a minute but could not connect the name to any person in his memory. "No," he answered. "No. I don't know anyone named Linsey Merrill."

"She was in love with you Billy. She thought you were going to marry her. That's why she slept with you. Then, the very next day, you were gone and she never saw you again."

The girl stopped to wipe the tears which had begun running down her cheek. "Not in person that is. She did see you much later, on television and on the covers of the CD's she bought. But you never saw her, and you never saw her daughter either."

Billy was close to panic now. He was beginning to realize this was not something he was going to be able to talk himself out of, and Jack for sure didn't have his back this time.

"Look!" he pleaded. "I don't know this woman, and if I did I sure don't remember her now."

"Well she remembers you Billy.

"My mother lived in a very small town in Indiana. She was fifteen years old and pregnant by a man who was no where in sight. That wasn't a good situation for her to be in." She paused and smiled at him, but it wasn't a pleasant smile.

"Luckily for her, or so it seemed at the time, this fellow who said he loved her agreed to marry her in spite of her being pregnant.

"HE WAS A TOTALLY HORRIBLE MONSTER YOU BASTARD!" she screamed.

"And you left her there with him. You left her to endure years of horror. Her and her daughter.

"I couldn't know for sure until I saw you Billy. All of you." She laughed and continued talking. "My mother always told me my father had a birth mark on the inside of his leg. A birth mark which looked like a map of the United States. That same birthmark that I'm looking at right now Billy.

"I'm Linsey Merrill's daughter.

"I'm your daughter Billy.

"I'm your daughter. Mona."

"No way," he said. "No way." Then continued, "And even if that were true. I was only a kid then. It was just a thing to do. You know fun and games. Hell everybody in those podunk little towns was bored out of their stinkin' minds. We didn't have anything else to do, so we rolled in the hay. It's not my fault."

Billy almost screamed, as the girl cocked the hammer of the pistol.

She held it pointed between his eyes, and said, "Oh yes! It is your fault Billy. She was just a child. You've committed a horrible crime against my mother and myself, and no telling how many other young girls since that time."

As if she were a judge in a courtroom, she recited, "I've tried you and found you guilty Billy Tomorrow. I'm going to sentence you now."

"No...," he pleaded.

"I sentence you...," She pulled the trigger and, for that second, Billy's world went black. Then he realized the gun had not fired. "...to live with yourself. For the rest of your life.

"That is the worst punishment you could endure," she said.

Mona had thought the gun was empty, but wasn't absolutely certain if she had fired the last bullet at the truck driver in Indiana or not. Until she heard the hammer fall on the expended cartridge. Now she knew....

*

Mona let the dream go. She opened her eyes, as Billy laid her down on the couch in the lobby of the inn.

She realized that this man was not the young boy her mother had known so many years ago. That boy had paid dearly to live long enough to become the man. She realized too that she was not the girl who had gone in search of Billy.

Freddie and Bobby were standing there waiting for her to wake up. They had probably been very worried. She didn't want that. She knew now that what she did want was to sign the papers in six months and let them adopt her. She wanted to stay with these kind people she had before in her life only dreamed could be real.

She wanted to stay in Kansas. She wanted this place to be home.

Mona sat up and smiled at Billy. "I must have fainted. Did you carry me in here?"

"Yes," he replied. Then laughed, and said, "I thought maybe it was me."

"So did I," she said. "For the longest time."

Billy took a step back. Confused by her reply.

She smiled at him again, and said, "I guess I had too much excitement. Well.... Thanks for the ride."

Then, leaving Billy with his life, and taking her own in hand, Mona stood up. Walking between Freddie and Bobby, she put her arms around them, and led her new family out to greet the world.

After such a time of hating, and only now with love in mind.

To her surprise.

It was an easy thing to do.

_______________________________

Epilog:

As he gazed out at the small congregation, seated in small groups, each isolated from the others, occupying the separate islands the scattered pews which held occupants had become, the Reverend Barrow smiled a smile of sadness. His love for these people had not diminished, and he longed to see them led by one who was yet filled with the blazing fire of salvation. His strength was flagging arid, though his parishioners still came every Sunday, he was losing his ability to send them on their way refreshed, and refilled, with the desire to go out and face with certainty another week in hands of the world. No. Better still, replenish that world with their own presence. Shed light on their friends, and neighbors. Fill their darkness with the shining example of lives better led; lived in the light of love.

Turning to look at the small group gathered on the first row pew--the family which had adopted him, and made him one of their own--his smile became a sweeter thing. Their presence lent his spirit the strength which on his own he might have lacked.

Yes indeed, he thought, God will provide.

Clearing his throat, as he lifted his arms and motioned for those in the back of the chapel to come forward, he said, "Move up folks. Come closer. God isn't hiding, and He doesn't want you to hide from Him."

With that, although he had prepared a sermon, he ignored the notes lying before him, and began to speak (much as he always had) from his heart.

"A lie has no legs; it has other lies to hold it up.

"The beast is hiding. He knows: that if he shows his true face to you, the world of lies and illusions he has constructed will come tumbling down. Knows that you would see--"

No one had heard a car pull up, so all were surprised, when the door of the church swung open, and a man walked in. Heads turned to see who it was, but for a moment, were unable to make out the figure silhouetted in the light coming in through the opening. As the door swung closed, the man who had entered began to walk down the aisle toward the front of the church. Making his way through the members who were still moving forward, and had not yet found seats, closer to the pulpit.

The Reverend patiently waited for the confusion to sort itself out. When everyone else was once again seated, the man was left standing on his own, facing the minister. At first he did not recognize the well dressed stranger, whose long brown hair was pulled to the back and tied in a pony tail. Then, as the man looked up, and the Reverend saw his eyes, he knew.

He had not seen his son, for nearly twenty years, and had been able to find no reports of his activities for over four. The lad--no, man--must be thirty eight years old now.

"Father," Billy said. "I'm not too late for the service; am I?"

The Reverend smiled, and this time it was a joyous smile. He once more looked toward his family, asking silent permission, as he motioned for Billy to take a seat with them.

"My son," he said. "It's never too late;

"...sometimes."

"To learn love: The beast must bear its burden."

"To learn forgiveness: Beauty must love the beast."

"Always."

"No matter the course; the river grows until it is enough to give itself to the sea..."

End

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Other books by

Douglas L. Simmons

Child and Freedom

Man and Chain

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--the author.