CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It's cocktail hour by the time I pull into Scottsdale, a Phoenix suburb that likes to pretend it’s not a part of greater Phoenix, but a separate oasis for the famous and wealthy who own beautiful homes in the area. A couple of years ago someone wrote a book titled "Gold Cadillac Town" in which the author proclaimed this lovely place as the wife swapping capital of America.
I park down the street from Don Fredrick's gas station. It’s built in what is reputed to be a frontier motif, and walk up the wooden sidewalk to Charley Briley's famous Pink Pony, Scottsdale’s favorite watering hole.
Some people want to win Academy Awards, or Nobel Prizes, or to be on the covers of world renowned magazines, but if you live in Scottsdale, your social status has reached its peak only if
