Vernon Hock, who had fought in Korea and was a one hundred percent, true-blue American, gave Norm some shit about his fag hair. But his uncle was also a pretty laid-back guy, so he didn’t give him much shit. While he worked, Norm tied his hair in a ponytail and kept it tucked up under his hat so as not to upset his uncle’s customers. That helped keep the grease out of it, anyway.

“I got a tow for you,” Vernon said one Thursday night. Norm was under the hood of a Buick, working on the carburetor. He pulled his head out and wiped his hands on a rag. “Some broad’s stuck out near the turnoff to Slocum Creek Road. She’s calling from a house.” Vernon gave him the address. “You can pick her up there and she’ll take you to the car.”

Norm was glad to get out of the garage. The weather was balmy but the garage was stuffy and smelled of gasoline fumes. He took the tow truck and headed out of town with the radio blasting and the window rolled down.

Slocum Creek Road crossed Blair Road a few miles past the new mall in what was still mostly farmland. Streetlights illuminated the area around the mall, but after a mile Blair Road turned pitch-black. Norm had to put on his brights and squint hard to find the address on the mailbox. The house was at the end of a dirt driveway. Norm parked the truck and knocked. A man dressed in chinos and a work shirt opened the screen door. When he saw Norm’s grease-stained coveralls, he called out, “It’s the tow guy.” Then he asked Norm to step inside.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I’ll wait out here. Don’t want to track dirt in.”

The man nodded before turning his head to look at a tall, blond girl around Norman ’s age. The girl was wearing a green Izod shirt and white cotton pants. Her straight blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was very tan.

“I’m from Hock’s Texaco. I hear you’ve got a problem.”

“My car is about a half mile down the road. It won’t start.”

The girl sounded put out, as if she found it inconceivable that something she owned would betray her.

Norm held open the passenger door of the tow truck. He threw a half-eaten bag of potato chips in the back and brushed at the seat.

“Hop in and we’ll have a look.”

The girl didn’t hesitate. Norm liked that.

They drove to the car in silence, and Norm drew some conclusions about the girl. He figured that she was athletic, smart, self-assured, and way out of his league. Her car was a red Thunderbird convertible, a classic, and it was sitting on a grass strip on the side of the road. Norm added “rich” to his guesses about his passenger. He parked in front of the car and went around to the passenger side to let the girl out. She was already slamming the door shut when he reached the front of the truck.

“Nice car,” Norm said. Then he noticed the Stanford sticker.

“You a Cardinal?” he asked.

The girl looked confused for a moment. Then she got it.

“Yes.”

“What year?”

“I’m going into my junior year.”

“Me, too. I’m at the U of O.”

The girl gave him an indulgent smile and the temperature cooled by ten degrees. Norm figured he’d better go about his business and leave the sweet talk to someone from the girl’s country club set.

“Can you crack the hood for me.”

The girl leaned into the car and sprang the hood release.

“Thanks.”

Norm got to work and surfaced a minute later.

“I’ve got bad news for you, Miss…”

“Van Meter. What’s the problem?”

“Your fan belt. It won’t take long to fix, but we’ll have to do it at the garage. That means a tow.”

“Damn.”

“Why don’t I hook her up and take her in. There’s a good chance we’ve got a belt for the car in the shop. If we do, I’ll have her running within a half hour.”

The girl waited in the cab while Norm hooked up the Thunderbird to the tow truck. After they’d been driving in silence for a while, a thought occurred to him.

“You said your name’s Van Meter, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a brother named Miles?”

She nodded.

“He wrestles for Stanford,” Norm said, smiling. “We’ve tangled a few times.”

The girl was suddenly interested. “How did you do?”

Norm laughed. “I lost both times, but I made it interesting.”

“You don’t seem to mind that you lost.”

“It’s only wrestling. You win some, you lose some.”

“That’s certainly not Miles’s philosophy.”

Norm shrugged. “It’s just a sport. Something to help you blow off steam. Not real important in the grand scheme… Say, I don’t know your first name.”

“Casey.”

“I’m Norm.”

They drove in silence for a while, with Norman stealing glances at his passenger. Being this close made him antsy. Her skin was so tan and smooth. He wondered what it would be like to touch it. And there were her breasts, which pushed against the golf shirt.

“So,” he asked, when he worked up the nerve, “what were you doing in the middle of nowhere, tonight?”

“I was headed home.”

“You live out here?”

“At Glen Oaks.”

“Isn’t that where the Oregon Academy is?” asked Norm, who’d wrestled there once in a tournament sponsored by the school.

She nodded. Norm couldn’t think of anything more to say, so they rode in silence for a little more until he decided to go for broke.

“Coming back from a date?” Norm asked, trying his hardest to sound casual.

Casey studied him closely for a moment. “Why would you want to know that, Norman?”

He turned his head and grinned. “I’m fishing to see if you’ve got a boyfriend.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I might get up the courage to ask you out.”

Casey smiled. “You’ve got balls. I’ll say that for you.”

Norm was surprised when Casey swore but he liked the fact that she wasn’t prissy.

“What if I told your boss that you’re propositioning his customers?”

“My uncle owns the gas station. He thinks I should date more. So, what do you say? I’ve got Thursdays off. I promise I’ll scrub off the grease and look presentable.”

The couple made plans to meet at eight in front of the Fox, a grand old Art Deco movie house on Broadway, but they never saw the movie. Casey cruised by in the Thunderbird at a quarter to eight. She pulled to the curb and flipped Norman the keys.

“You drive,” she said.

“I thought we were seeing the show.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

Norman gladly slipped behind the wheel. He was dying to see how this baby ran and he hadn’t been that interested in the movie, anyway. It had just been a vehicle for getting close to Casey.

“Where to, madam?” Norm asked in a phony British accent.

Casey closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat.

“Take the Banfield to Eighty-second.”

Norm was tempted to ask where they were going but decided to just play along. The Banfield was the eastbound interstate, and he might get a chance to open up the car if traffic was light.

When they took the exit, Casey gave him some more directions.

“There,” she said a few minutes later.

Norm looked in the direction she was pointing and saw the gaudy neon sign of the Caravan Motel. A knot formed in his stomach, but he drove into the lot.

“Park over there,” Casey said, indicating a spot fifty feet from the office. As soon as they were parked, she held out a twenty-dollar bill. Norm hesitated. A mischievous grin formed on Casey’s lips.

“Don’t tell me this is your first time, Norman.”

“No,” he answered, trying not to sound defensive.

“Too proud to take money from a woman?”

Norm grabbed the twenty.

“Good boy,” Casey said with a grin. “Register as Mr. and Mrs. John Smith, a classic. I don’t think the clerk will ask why you don’t have a ring if you pay cash.”

Norm took the money and started to get out of the car. He hesitated.