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crazy. But he was cute and funny in a way and a pretty good kisser. And she was probably half crazy herself. Or there were times she absolutely had been. So who was she to talk?
    She sat cross-legged on the bed smoking one of his outrageous joints, bigger than a filter-tip cigarette and listening to the Stones’ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” on the radio for about the billionth time and considered the guy. Was she going to stick around with him for awhile or look farther? For sure he was eccentric. He didn’t even like the Beatles, for god’s sake. Made a whole big deal about it.
    Who didn’t like the Beatles? Even her father did.
    And that weird walk of his—what was that all about?
    His hair was long but it was more like the way Elvis was wearing it these days minus the great big exaggerated sideburns than like anybody truly hip and she suspected that like Elvis, he dyed it. The mole on his cheek was definitely enhanced by eyebrow pencil. And she’d be willing to bet he was using eyeshadow on the lids.
    The guy was definitely a little wacko.
    She might just give it a shot, though. See where it led. It wasn’t the most interesting town in the world, god knows, not after San Francisco, and at least he was different, more like the guys she knew back home than anybody else she’d come across here in Sparta. A character. With the black leather pants and jacket he looked a little bit like a biker. Not the bikers she knew in Frisco or Berkeley. They were the real thing. This guy drove a Chevy. But he drove it fast and hard and his dope was fine and he got her into the bars at night and bought the drinks.
    She figured Ray got a guarded maybe .
    Over the blare of music she heard a knock at the door.
    Shit, her father .
    “Wait a minute, hold on.”
    She didn’t have to worry about the smoke. Her father had a sinus condition so bad that if the house caught fire he’d see the smoke before he smelled it. She just had to ditch the roach. She stubbed it out in the ashtray and put it in her jewelry box along with half a dozen others and put the box back in her top dresser drawer. The drawer had all her bras and panties in it, and she liked the idea of her underwear smelling like dope. Her boyfriend Deke back home liked it too.
    She unlocked and opened the door but it wasn’t her dad, just Etta, the maid, who could smell the potsmoke perfectly well but could be counted on not to say anything. She’d caught Etta firing up in the basement a month ago while the maid was doing the laundry. So they had themselves a little agreement here.
    “Hey, Etta. What’s up?”
    “Your daddy says he wants to see you.”
    “Trouble?”
    “Don’t think so. Why? You been in some?”
    She gave Etta one of her who me? smiles.
    “Where is he? Study?”
    “Workshop.”
    “Ugh.”
    It was the only place in the house that was dirty. Even if it technically wasn’t in the house but beside it in a converted garage. He would never let Etta clean it, just swept it up himself from time to time. Which to Katherine’s way of thinking wasn’t nearly as often as he should have.
    She hated dirt and she hated dirty people.
    Like that drunken Jennifer Fitch and Tim Bess. She’d bet her weekly allowance money that neither of them had showered yesterday. They smelled like dope and sour beer. At least Jennifer hadn’t hung around for long. Ray drove her home after they left the first bar. By then Katherine was amazed she could even walk. But Tim had stayed for the duration. Mostly just looking at her like she were some sort of exotic animal—though she guessed she was more or less used to that with guys—and playing straight man for Ray. He wasn’t even that good a straight man. If she was going to go out with Ray on anything like a regular basis he was going to have to rethink his thing with those two.
    Katherine personally showered twice a day. Once in the morning and once before bed at night. Before a date she showered again.
    Ray said he did