Rhonda, some time the previous fall – still day eleven, late afternoon
Bryce is having a difficult time concentrating on the road. The girl sitting next to him is a wild one—and young—just the way he likes them. He needs to find an excuse to spend more time with her. Maybe she could be a “keeper.”
“So, what’s in Roscoe?” he asks, “I mean, to make you try to get there on such a shitty day?”
“Well, for starters, I’m not really heading for Roscoe—not exactly. I’m trying to get to North Carolina.”
“North Carolina? I think you’re headed in the wrong direction. You need to be headin’ south.”
“Actually, I’m trying to get to the city,” says Rhonda, “so I can catch a bus.”
“Ah ha,” says Bryce. “Now I get it.” His mind is racing a mile a minute, as he tries to figure a way to stall her. “So…uh…who’s in North Carolina? Boyfriend?”
“Don’t I wish,” says Rhonda, her voice tinged with sarcasm. ‘Fraid not. Just my grandparents. I’m running away from home.”
Oh great, thinks Bryce. Just what I need, a runaway, no doubt with the cops looking for her. But, just as he is about to say something, Rhonda puts his concerns to rest.
“But, you don’t have to worry,” says Rhonda. “Nobody cares. I beat the crap out of my stepfather, and it’s already been almost two weeks, and nobody’s even tried to find me.”
“Cool,” says Bryce. “Then there’s no rush?” he asks. “I mean, right? What’s the hurry? Why don’t you hang out at my place for a while—‘til the weather clears up, I mean?”
“Where’s your place?”
A shiver runs down Bryce’s spine, and he feels that old familiar tightening in his groin. He clears his throat, “Uh, actually, it’s not that far from here. Do you know where Delancy is?” Immediately, he regrets the question. Of course, she doesn’t know where Delancy is; nobody knows where Delancy is. It’s in the middle of nowhere. He doesn’t wait for an answer; instead, he decides to take another tack.
“Forget about Delancy. How’d you like to see my studio?”
“You mean at the radio station?” asks Rhonda.
“Yeah. I’ve got it all fixed up so I can stay there. Sometimes, I’m there for a week at a time. Come on; it’ll be cool. I’ll even let you ‘intro’ a couple of songs. I don’t go on until ten, so we’ve got plenty of time. Whatta ya say. Wanna come?”
Rhonda peers through the windshield at the snow, and then glances over at Bryce. He is kinda cute, she thinks. “Oh, what the hell. Why not? Sure. But, first, can we stop and get something to eat? I’m starved.”
Bryce is in shock.
“Well, can we?”
“Wha—oh, food…uh…sure. Whatever you want.” He can scarcely contain himself. “Oh, shit!” he exclaims.
“What’s wrong?” asks Rhonda.
Bryce has just remembered Chief Davis’s warning about his being seen with young girls. “Ah, it’ll probably be okay,” he mumbles. She’s worth the risk. Or, is she? He can’t make up his mind. “It’s nothin’,” he says, finally. “I was just thinking that the diner might be too crowded. It really gets mobbed when the weather’s bad. You feel like a pizza?”
“Sure,” says Rhonda.
“Good. Screw the diner. There’s a great pizzeria over in Walton. We’ll get a pepperoni pie—you like pepperoni, don’t ya?—and we’ll bring it back to the studio—couple of beers, too.”
Rhonda pictures the two of them—alone—eating pizza and drinking beer. How cool, she thinks. Besides, North Carolina will still be there in a day or two. What’s the rush?
“Pepperoni’s cool,” she says. “Hey! We’ll have a party.”
“Yeah, cool. A party.”
Rhonda gives Bryce a peck on the cheek. “Par-tee!” she shouts, moving her torso to the music on the radio.
“Par-tee!” echoes Bryce, as he reaches over and turns the music up even louder.
“Par-tee!” they shout in unison, and Rhonda snuggles in next to the disc jockey.
This is more like it.