George stepped out the backdoor of his family home and into the oppressive heat of early August. He sprinted barefoot across the hot cement and jumped into the clear, cool waters of the in-ground pool. Swimming the length underwater, he emerged at the opposite end, exhaling and shaking water from his mop of blond hair. He swam in lazy circles enjoying the relief from an unseasonably hot summer.
“George Harold Lattimer, Junior!”
“Oh, shit,” he muttered, turning to the sound of the voice. Whenever his mother used his full name, it usually meant trouble and that was not a good sign. Ruth Lattimer strutted out the door with a martini glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Her cat-eye framed sunglasses made her look angry even when she wasn’t. Judging from the way she just screeched his name, she was furious about something.
“Are you out of your mind?” she snapped.
“I take it you’ve been talking to Dad?” George answered, knowing his casual voice would infuriate her even more.
“You’re damn right I have. He told me to talk some sense into you.”
George scoffed. As if his mother was the epitome of reason and motherly advice. Ruth enjoyed the perks of having a very successful husband and living in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Chicago. It allowed her the luxury of being a stay-at-home mom, a role which she rarely practiced. She was too busy attending parties, shopping and keeping up with the Joneses to be bothered with domestic chores such as housekeeping or child-rearing. There were maids, cooks and nannies for those undesirable tasks which she couldn’t bear to be seen doing.
“Why on earth would anyone want to hitchhike across the country?” she shrieked.
George screwed up his face and shoved off, doing a backstroke. Because I’m dying to get out of here and I don’t have a car to do it. “This is something I want to do before summer ends and I have to go to work for Dad’s law firm.”
Not that he wouldn’t enjoy the benefits of his father’s successful law firm. Season tickets to the Cubs and the Bears play in Wrigley Field. Having an office in the Prudential Building, the second tallest in the city only to the Chicago Board of Trade, soon to be third when the Daley Center opened next year. Still, the view of Lake Michigan wouldn’t be obstructed.
It was all very nice, if only he didn’t have to work for it.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Where do you think you’re going?” she shouted after him.
“I’m going to hike Route 66 all the way to its end, the Santa Monica Pier in Los Angeles. Then maybe I’ll stick around in Hollywood. I’ve already bought everything I need—a backpack, sleeping bag, snacks, and I also have some extra cash.”
Ruth threw back her head and cackled, the fake high-pitched laugh hanging in the still air. “Hollywood is full of nothing but fruits and hippies.”
George climbed out of the pool and did a flip off the springboard. “Who knows?” he said when he surfaced. “Maybe I’ll become a lawyer to the stars. Or maybe I’ll become a movie star myself.”
His mother snorted. “You don’t have what it takes to be a movie star. They want guys like John Wayne, Paul Newman and Montgomery Cliff. They’ll never even give you a second glance.”
“We’ll see.” He watched his mother roll her eyes. She downed the last of her martini.
“Charlotte, I need a refresher!” She wiggled the empty glass in the air. A woman with her hair covered in a bandana poked her head out the door and then disappeared back inside.
“Mom, I haven’t been more than fifty miles from Chicago my entire life. I want to see the country before I’m stuck with a full-time job.”
“Well, you can thank your father for giving you the career start most young men would die for.” She walked to a poolside table and stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray then turned to glare at him. “There’ll be time enough for travel once you’ve passed your bar exams.” Charlotte emerged from the house with a fresh cocktail and a pack of cigarettes. Ruth grabbed them from her and sat down without uttering a ‘thank you.’ The stone-faced maid returned to the house.
“Your father and I forbid it,” Ruth said. She lit another cigarette and took a long drag on it before continuing. “There are enough weirdoes and freaks in this city that you won’t make it out alive.”
“Don’t concern yourself, Mom. I’ve already got a ride as far as Joplin.”
“I don’t even know where that is. With who?”
“A friend of a friend. Joplin is in Missouri, far enough away from any big cities and the freaks and weirdoes. I’m going. No matter what you and Dad say.” He spoke deliberately to ensure she understood.