256 – is the number of girls I've dated in high school."
Piper shook her head.
"You, sir, are insufferable."
Ben grinned.
"I try."
"Is he always this way?" Piper asked Mark.
Mark laughed.
"Yes."
Piper looked at Ben.
"You're exaggerating. I'll bet you don't have even one girlfriend."
Ben nodded matter-of-factly.
"You're half right. I am exaggerating. I have only five girlfriends – six if you count Doris Mayes. She's been sweet on me since ninth grade, but I haven't asked her out."
"You're a throwback," Piper said.
"Do you think five is too many?"
"Yes. I think one is plenty for anyone."
"How many boyfriends do you have?" Ben asked.
"That's none of your business."
"So the answer is none."
Piper pouted.
"I'm between significant others now."
"That's all right," Ben said. "It happens to everyone … except me."
Mary Beth laughed.
"It sounds like you have a live one back there, Piper."
Piper folded her arms.
"I'm taking a bus back to Los Angeles."
Ben smiled.
"You can't do that. You don't have any money."
"I'll steal some," Piper said. "I would rather risk jail than sit next to you in a car."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I'm positive."
"What if I offered to give you a ride in my car?" Ben asked.
"I would decline."
"What if I told you my car was a Thunderbird?"
Piper unfolded her arms.
"You drive a T-Bird?"
"I own a T-Bird," Ben said. "I own a red 1959 Ford Thunderbird convertible with whitewall tires, a 300-horsepower V8 engine, and leather upholstery."
"He's not rich," Mark said to Piper. "He just spent his share of Dad's life insurance money on a car rather than on college or something sensible."
"Dad would have approved," Ben said. "You know it."
Piper tried to make sense of it all but couldn't. She sighed, cocked her head, and looked at Ben as if he were the strangest thing on earth.
"Let me get this straight. You have a 1959 Thunderbird – a convertible, no less – and the four of us are driving to Vegas in an Edsel?"
Ben nodded and laughed.
"My car is in the shop."
CHAPTER 11: MARY BETH
Las Vegas, Nevada
Mary Beth had seen Sin City a hundred times in her twenty-two years. She had seen it on television, in theaters, and even on postcards, but until Mark drove his Edsel down Las Vegas Boulevard on an unseasonably warm afternoon in 1959, she had never seen it in person.
She looked out her closed window and saw casinos, hotels, shops, and services that appeared torn from a flickering home movie. She marveled at the seemingly endless stream of props that welcomed visitors to the city.
A thirty-five-foot sultan straddled the entrance to the Dunes. A giant, blinking, rotating shoe spun in front of the Silver Slipper. A menacing raptor, perched atop a large neon sign, greeted motorists and pedestrians as they approached the Thunderbird.
Mary Beth pondered the possibilities as she admired the signs and marquees. She could see Johnny Mathis at the Sands, the McGuire sisters at the Desert Inn, or Le Lido de Paris, "the world's greatest floor show," at the Stardust. Or she could talk the others into dining, dancing, and exploring the Strip. They might like that. She knew she would.
"What are you thinking?" Mark asked.
"I'm thinking about what I want to do tonight. We have so many options," Mary Beth said. She looked at the driver. "What do you want to do?"
Mark turned his head.
"I don't know. We still have time to decide. What we don't have is time to find a turf club. The game starts in less than an hour in Louisville. We need to place a bet soon."
Mary Beth scanned the road ahead.
"Do you know where we can?"
Mark nodded.
"There's at least one club a few blocks away."
Mary Beth looked over her shoulder and saw that the combatants in back had not warmed to each other. Ben stared blankly out the left window, Piper out the right. Neither had said more than a few words since bickering over significant others and seating assignments.
"Are you two ever going to enjoy
Piper shook her head.
"You, sir, are insufferable."
Ben grinned.
"I try."
"Is he always this way?" Piper asked Mark.
Mark laughed.
"Yes."
Piper looked at Ben.
"You're exaggerating. I'll bet you don't have even one girlfriend."
Ben nodded matter-of-factly.
"You're half right. I am exaggerating. I have only five girlfriends – six if you count Doris Mayes. She's been sweet on me since ninth grade, but I haven't asked her out."
"You're a throwback," Piper said.
"Do you think five is too many?"
"Yes. I think one is plenty for anyone."
"How many boyfriends do you have?" Ben asked.
"That's none of your business."
"So the answer is none."
Piper pouted.
"I'm between significant others now."
"That's all right," Ben said. "It happens to everyone … except me."
Mary Beth laughed.
"It sounds like you have a live one back there, Piper."
Piper folded her arms.
"I'm taking a bus back to Los Angeles."
Ben smiled.
"You can't do that. You don't have any money."
"I'll steal some," Piper said. "I would rather risk jail than sit next to you in a car."
"Are you sure about that?"
"I'm positive."
"What if I offered to give you a ride in my car?" Ben asked.
"I would decline."
"What if I told you my car was a Thunderbird?"
Piper unfolded her arms.
"You drive a T-Bird?"
"I own a T-Bird," Ben said. "I own a red 1959 Ford Thunderbird convertible with whitewall tires, a 300-horsepower V8 engine, and leather upholstery."
"He's not rich," Mark said to Piper. "He just spent his share of Dad's life insurance money on a car rather than on college or something sensible."
"Dad would have approved," Ben said. "You know it."
Piper tried to make sense of it all but couldn't. She sighed, cocked her head, and looked at Ben as if he were the strangest thing on earth.
"Let me get this straight. You have a 1959 Thunderbird – a convertible, no less – and the four of us are driving to Vegas in an Edsel?"
Ben nodded and laughed.
"My car is in the shop."
CHAPTER 11: MARY BETH
Las Vegas, Nevada
Mary Beth had seen Sin City a hundred times in her twenty-two years. She had seen it on television, in theaters, and even on postcards, but until Mark drove his Edsel down Las Vegas Boulevard on an unseasonably warm afternoon in 1959, she had never seen it in person.
She looked out her closed window and saw casinos, hotels, shops, and services that appeared torn from a flickering home movie. She marveled at the seemingly endless stream of props that welcomed visitors to the city.
A thirty-five-foot sultan straddled the entrance to the Dunes. A giant, blinking, rotating shoe spun in front of the Silver Slipper. A menacing raptor, perched atop a large neon sign, greeted motorists and pedestrians as they approached the Thunderbird.
Mary Beth pondered the possibilities as she admired the signs and marquees. She could see Johnny Mathis at the Sands, the McGuire sisters at the Desert Inn, or Le Lido de Paris, "the world's greatest floor show," at the Stardust. Or she could talk the others into dining, dancing, and exploring the Strip. They might like that. She knew she would.
"What are you thinking?" Mark asked.
"I'm thinking about what I want to do tonight. We have so many options," Mary Beth said. She looked at the driver. "What do you want to do?"
Mark turned his head.
"I don't know. We still have time to decide. What we don't have is time to find a turf club. The game starts in less than an hour in Louisville. We need to place a bet soon."
Mary Beth scanned the road ahead.
"Do you know where we can?"
Mark nodded.
"There's at least one club a few blocks away."
Mary Beth looked over her shoulder and saw that the combatants in back had not warmed to each other. Ben stared blankly out the left window, Piper out the right. Neither had said more than a few words since bickering over significant others and seating assignments.
"Are you two ever going to enjoy
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