Max Allan Collins
Girl Most Likely
For the reunion committee
Welcome!
Some call Galena, Illinois — near the Iowa-Wisconsin border and sixteen miles east of Dubuque, Iowa — “The City that Time Forgot,” frozen in the 1800s. But its one hundred or so dining, entertainment, and shopping options are a present-day delight — the half mile of Main Street’s shopping offers, free of charge, outstanding examples of assorted architectural styles — French Colonial, Greek Revival, Victorian, and more.
Galena is the birthplace of General Ulysses S. Grant, eighteenth U.S. president. His victorious post — Civil War return saw the town presenting him and his family with a house that, while no mansion, would become just one of today’s many restored historic homes now open to the public — actual mansions included!
History buffs will take in with wide, appreciative eyes the exhibits of the Historical Society Museum in its magnificent Italianate setting. Named for its iron deposits, Galena was in its pre — Civil War glory days a mining boomtown. But you don’t have to be into history to marvel at an underground tour of the Vinegar Hill Lead Mine.
Aboveground, myriad pleasures await — rolling hills, sweeping valleys, a golf resort, nearby ski lodge, trolley tours, an array of cozy bed and breakfasts and comfy hotels, hot air ballooning, magic shows, antiquing, art galleries, artisan and craft shops, a distillery, breweries and wineries.
Events and activities every weekend await honeymooners and families alike, who will wonder at the stunning vistas of Greater Galena. Each year this city of three thousand-some souls welcomes over a million visitors. Be one of them!
Jerome Ward, The Galena Visitor (published twice yearly by The Galena Gazette)
One
The two girls would be there, of this much you are certain.
Two women, actually — “girls” ten years ago, but women now. Judging by their photos on Facebook, both are still quite lovely. Neither is married, interestingly. Well, married to their careers maybe.
And if they both attend — and social media chatter assures you they will — and see you, and start talking... what could you do? Stay home, you suppose. But even in your absence they might talk. And if they talk, and that talk spreads, what would become of your career?
The planning for the event took all year — the Galena High School Ten-Year Reunion has its own Facebook page, so keeping up becomes a daily thing. You have read all the posts, many from friends who pose no threat, others from kids you hadn’t been all that close to; but the class is small — sixty-five, and maybe thirty or at most forty will show up... and a few are gone already. A car accident and two Iraq deaths.
Maybe something would come up and one or both girls would decide not to come. You keep tabs on them. Keep track.
Sue has shared her travel plans, has her plane reservations made and hotel, too. Like most of those coming, she takes advantage of the special deal Lake View Lodge is offering. That has been a big part of why the Class of ’09 settled on a winter month — off-season rates. The lodge is geared toward golfers with its four courses. Travel isn’t an issue for the other girl, whose parents still live in Galena.
That is how, six months before the reunion, you end up in Clearwater, Florida — not for golf, but because of the reservations Sue makes.
You don’t know much about Clearwater. Your family has vacationed in Florida several times, but never Clearwater, which somebody told you is the Redneck Riviera. You can’t argue with that. The main drag is littered with fast-food restaurants, including the very first Hooters, and traffic is awful.
You check into a Fairfield Inn paying cash, saying you lost your credit card, and will a cash deposit for incidentals do? It will. After your long day of driving, you cruise the main drag, in search of the kind of fresh seafood you can’t find in the Midwest. That stretch is so brightly lit, you don’t realize your lights aren’t on till the cop pulls you over.
Turns out to be a kind of variation on a speed trap. When afternoon turns to dusk and then darkens to evening, that fast-food-littered four-lane is still bright as noon. That means a cop can pull over out-of-towners like you and reward them with a seventy-five-buck ticket. What a racket. Some people have no morality whatsoever.
And when you finally choose a restaurant, the seafood is awful — heavily breaded scallops you suspect had been frozen.
Back at the Fairfield Inn, you barely sleep at all. Can’t shut your mind off with all you’ve got to do.
Next morning you locate her home, on a side street just a few blocks from the motel, which of course you already knew, thanks to Google Maps. You’d been able to view her street online, and already know what her house looks like. Shabbier in person. A pale green ranch-style that would have been nice back home, but the tropical weather’s been tough on it here.
You drive around her neighborhood, and the surrounding area. That main drag is hard to get onto if you’re caught at a side street stop sign — you need a stoplight, though even then it takes forever to turn green. But the light does change, and soon you have chosen your route. Getaway route, you think to yourself, and laugh a little at the absurdity of it all.
She is living alone. You watch from just around the corner, parked in your Ford Edge, as she walks from a side door to her Prius in the driveway under a carport awning. You almost don’t recognize her. She had been curvy, very bosomy, and cute. She is a little heavier now, though still attractive. Wearing the blue blouse of her job at Best Buy, where she is assistant manager.
You are close enough from where you parked to get a decent look at her. The red hair — in cheerleader days, so full and shoulder-brushing — is now a pixie cut. Her makeup is a little heavy. It always was.
You follow her to work, keeping several cars between you. You already know the address of where she’s heading, thanks to her Facebook posts and the Clearwater Best Buy website. You do not go in, though probably you could have done so, staying at a distance — she is behind the returns counter. Why would she expect to see you here? Still, it seems too much of a risk.
You return to your room and have a nap before checking out. In your car, you check your watch — she’d be fixing herself an early supper now. You drive to a diner not far from her place and have some yourself. Just soup, nothing heavy. It’s after nightfall when you park around the corner in time to see her exit again from the side door to her car.
Now she has a professional look — burgundy silk blouse, gray pants, low heels. Purse with a strap over her shoulder.
Her second job is at one of several venues at Ruth Eckerd Hall, a 73,000-square-foot performing arts center (Google said), part of an entertainment complex that is definitely upscale compared to the rest of Clearwater. That is because the patrons are mostly from the nearby Tampa Bay area, plus plenty of tourists from all over, of course.
The Little River Band is tonight’s attraction at Ruth Eckerd Hall. They have so many good songs — “Reminiscing,” “Cool Change,” “Lonesome Loser”—Pablo Cruise is on the bill, too, with “Love Will Find a Way,” “A Place in the Sun,” “I Want You Tonight.”
You go to the box office and spend $45 on a ticket. Part of that is to check out the venue, to see if this would be the right place for what you have in mind — the parking lot, maybe. And of course part of it is that you thought the two bands sounded like fun.
After all, shouldn’t you get some enjoyment out of this? Why not chill a little bit? Must everything be so darn serious?
And there is no chance of her spotting you, since she works the bar at the smaller Murray Theatre in the complex, and you are in the main hall. It is huge — four thousand seats, every one filled tonight — which tells you this is the wrong choice. That parking lot is packed, and endless, a sea of people and their vehicles.