On Route 66

1-2

“We going or what?”

She shook her head. How much cash was he carrying? “It’s just that you hit me with this all of a sudden.”

“We can’t back out now. We got the car.”

“Ah... why not,” she said, caving in.

“That’s my girl.”

“I don’t like that look,” she said.

“You know, we could have s*x in every state.”

“Really.” She swatted him on the shoulder.

“What? It didn’t cross your mind?”

She smirked. “You know, we’ll need some good road maps.”

“Easy. We’ll grab them along the way.”

And so the adventure began.

They threw the suitcases in the trunk and off they drove through the downtown Loop and Cicero and didn’t set their feet on solid ground again until they reached a country diner outside Joliet. The Weaver Inn was a tidy establishment with red gingham tablecloths, fancy laminated menus and friendly service.

In the middle of their hot, roast beef lunches, Jake suddenly came to his feet. “I have to go to the restroom,” he said, and hurried down the hall.

I guess he really had to go, Jennifer mused. She didn’t think anything peculiar until she finished her lunch to the last crumb and her second cup of coffee. Meanwhile, Jake still hadn’t returned. Something was strange. So, she wiped her mouth and went looking for him. She made her way to the hall where the restrooms were located and then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Jake through the hall window. He was at a telephone booth next to the building, his back to her.

What was he doing now?

She opened the hall door slowly and heard the words. “Yes, do it... I said do it... No, I won’t wait... do it... And don’t tell you-know-who. Anyway, I gotta go. Jennifer will wonder where I’ve been.”

That’s an understatement, Jennifer thought, quickly shrinking away, retreating to the table where she sat down. In seconds, Jake returned and finished off the rest of his lunch although it was nearly cold by now. This time, she didn’t asked questions. But her suspicions of Jake were mounting. Who had she really married? Secret phone calls. Mystery cash. Awkward answers. Who was you-know-who? She knew she’d have to say something, eventually. But when?

In minutes, they took to the road again, winding their way along Route 66, through the black loam cornfields of Illinois. It was far too cold to put the top down.

Pontiac... Bloomington... Lincoln... Springfield...

They rested the night inside the Missouri border at a second-rate hotel on the outskirts of St. Louis. They had covered three hundred miles the first day. Jake made no phone calls and they had a good night’s sleep with some love-making mixed in. The second day, they ate breakfast together in a small coffee shop in St. Louis. He bought a newspaper. She bought a new hat, and mailed away a postcard to her parents. Thanks to an early start, they made more ground the second day, over four hundred and fifty miles, through the remainder of the rocky Missouri Ozarks.

Stanton... Lebanon... Joplin...

The eight-cylinder Pierce Arrow ran perfectly for them all the way to Tulsa, Oklahoma. Part-way into the next day, they noticed the countryside was starting to change. The mid-west farmland gave way to the western ranches and oil fields. It was warmer each day and colder each night. It was also less populated. Dry. Dusty in some places. Green in others. Red soil. No pavement. Hardly any trees. Some occasional vehicles. A lot more miles between gas stations and diners.

Stroud... Oklahoma City... Clinton...

By the fourth day, they made it to the Texas Panhandle where the land was laid out flat as a sidewalk and the soil had turned a rich, black loam. Trees were scarce. Grain elevators and oil derricks were plentiful.

Alanreed... Amarillo... Vega...

Then they came upon the rugged terrain and high country of New Mexico.

It was a sunny day with sparse traffic on Route 66. Jennifer had her nose in the business section of the Oklahoma City newspaper they had purchased earlier. She and Jake had thousands invested in two different stocks recommended by her father, money put there by both sides of the family who were avid stock players. Jennifer was her daddy’s girl. Her knowledge of the stock market placed her in the minority in most female circles.

“What yuh reading?” he asked, glancing over, as he sped along the road, kicking up red dust behind them.

“The stock pages,” she answered. “Just seeing how our nest egg is doing.”

“I already know. US Steel up one-half. Browning up by three-quarters.”

“Really... both up?” she asked. She found the numbers for them. “Yeah.”

“You like that?”

“Of course. My father was right. As always. He told us the bull market would continue, even with all the ups and downs of the market these last few weeks.”

“Well, he’s not always right.”

“He’s been perfect up to now, Jacob Courtney. You manage to take advantage of his advice.”

“Most of the time,” Jake admitted.

“He said to put everything we own on US Steel and Browning Manufacturing.” She could not hold back any longer. Now was the opportunity. “Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Who did you talk to on the telephone in Chicago?”

Jake kept his eyes on the road, a rise a hundred yards away. His face twitched. “What the hell is this? I told you before, my dad.”

“Did you call your dad at Joliet, too?”

Jake yanked the wheel over to the shoulder and slid to a dusty stop. “How did you know about that?”

Jennifer could see the fire in his eyes. “You took so long in the restroom, so I followed you out.”

“You did?”

“Yes, I saw you in the phone booth.”

“Spying on me, huh?”

“Why are you looking at me that way? Are you keeping something from me?”

He tried to smile, but it came out a hard frown, almost a sneer. “Did you hear anything?”

“You said, do it. And don’t tell you-know-who. Do what, Jake? Don’t tell who?”

“Nothing!” He grabbed onto her sleeve.

She swallowed hard. “Stop it! You’re scaring me.”

“Jennifer, don’t ask me. Not now, anyway.”

“Why not now?”

“Please,” he said. He reached over and kissed her hard on the mouth.

She struggled and pulled away, fixing her hat. “What’s the matter with you? Don’t try and charm me, Jake Courtney.”

He started to grin. “It always worked before.”

“Not now it won’t.”

“Relax, doll.”

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Something’s really weird.”

“No, I’m not in trouble. At least, I hope not. Maybe, I don’t know.”

She put her hand on the door knob. “I don’t like this one bit. I’m getting out.”

He chuckled. “Sure you are. Right here in no-man’s land.”

“I am.” She opened the door and stepped onto the shoulder. “There. See. I’m out.”

“Jennifer!” He shouted through the open passenger door, throwing his hands up. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. You get back in here, you silly thing!”

“No! I can’t take this anymore. I never could trust you. My daddy said I never should have married you.”

“He gave you away, didn’t he.”

“I think he was drunk at the time.”

“He was. But that’s beside the point.”

“How do I know you’re not... not some mobster?”

“A mobster whose father owns a department store. Sure, nice try.”

She slammed the door and strutted away into the western sun. He jumped out and stood by the front bumper. He calmly lit a cigarette. “Can’t go too far without a suitcase. Nearest town is Albuquerque, fifteen miles behind us.”

“I don’t care.” She kept walking, her back to him, her hat in her hand.

“You spoiled little brat. It’s getting chilly and it’ll be dark in a few hours. You don’t even have a coat. You’ll freeze.” No response from her. “All right then. Goodbye!” He got back in the car, put the vehicle in gear and began driving away, slowly, passing his wife, and leaving her behind in a cloud of dust. He remembered his father telling him once that there were two theories to arguing with a woman. Trouble was, neither one worked.

Suddenly realizing that Jake meant business, she began to run after him. But it was no use. He sped up and drove out of sight over the rise. She stopped and dusted herself off. Jake was right. It was getting cold. She began to cry. When she got to the top of the hill and looked down, there was the Pierce Arrow pulled over by the shoulder. Jennifer ran for it and into the arms of her husband waiting at the back bumper. She smothered him with kisses.

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me,” she gasped.

“On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t ask me anymore questions, OK?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

“I’ll explain in due time.”

His voice soothed her. “All right. Just don’t leave me. I’m not a spoiled brat, am I?”

He shrugged. “Just sometimes.” He opened his door, cigarette in his mouth. “Wait. I have to go.”

“You mean... go?”

“Yeah. Really bad.”

“Now?” she asked. “Here?”

“Yeah, here. Where else? In the car? Don’t watch now,” he grinned.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

Two hours later, they bedded down at a motel in Laguna for the night, where they were too tired to do anything but sleep.

Day five, they drove the rest of the way through northern New Mexico and into Arizona. They were making good time. They stayed on Route 66 and took a detour north at Williams to see the Grand Canyon, one of the eight wonders of the world. The couple savored the sight on the rail at one of the south rim points with a dozen other sightseers. More colors than one could comprehend.

“Amazing,” Jennifer said.

Jake’s eyes grew wide. “I second that.”

“Kind of cold.”

“You bet it is.”

“Hold me.”

“With pleasure.”

* * * *

THE MORNING OF OCTOBER 29 BROKE AS MOST MORNINGS did that time of year in Arizona. The sun was shining bright. No wind. Day six on the Route 66 trail west for the couple as they left their Williams hotel.

Seligman... Kingman... Oatman... Topack...

This was dry country. Fatigue was setting in now. It was a hot day, close to one hundred degrees. They reached the Arizona-California state line by evening, only minutes before the sunset. They crossed over the Colorado River, got out of the grimy Pierce Arrow and stood before the sign stating WELCOME TO CALIFORNIA.

Both were silent for a long time.

“We did it,” Jake said.

Jennifer agreed, nodding. “Yeah. Good thing. We’re starting to run out of clean clothes.”

The Courtneys held each other. Up the road, they saw the sign for Needles... ten miles. This part of California appeared bleak. Behind them were the Black Mountains of Arizona and the scariest driving they had ever experienced. The mountain passes had been murder on the nerves. Open desert ahead for a hundred miles after Needles, they were told at their last Arizona stop before the wicked descent that they had finished.

They drove into Needles, an oasis town of a few thousand, where Jake steered the Pierce Arrow into a Mobil gas station.

“Fill it up,” he said to the teenage male attendant dressed all in white.

“Clean the windshield?”

“Yeah, it sure needs it,” Jake replied.

Jennifer glanced over at the open door to the business. Inside were three old men in their fifties or sixties listening intently to a large cabinet radio in the corner. One of the men shook his head. All three were silent. She rolled her own window down. The radio was certainly loud enough. Something about the New York Stock Market. “Jake?” she said, glancing at her husband.

“What?”

“Over there.”

He looked to where she pointed. “Yeah, so?”