Page 1 of On the Line

CHAPTER 1

DECEMBER 31, 1981

Rolling a rough-edged coral rock between my fingers, I leaned back onto the fender of the Lincoln stretched limousine that Waylan was charged to drive tonight. My best buddy (and “coworker” of sorts) was inside taking a leak—and hopefully scoring us some booze from the party on his way back. Drinking on the job would be frowned upon, but it was New Year’s Eve. A little nip wouldn’t hurt.

Neither Waylan nor I had a lick of experience driving a stretched limo. We drove boats and pickup trucks. George had given us the limo post “in case anyone got out of hand,” a distinct possibility when the biggest weed runner in the Keys threw a bash. Waylan and I knew that our real job was to stand lookout, like we always did for George.

I was eyeing the side entrance Waylan had disappeared into at least five minutes earlier, wishing he’d get back with a beer, when a pretty girl I recognized from high school came rushing out. The blonde ponytail swinging behind her was unmistakable. Eleanor Russell. I’d stared at that ponytailfifty minutes a day for our entire junior year. I couldn’t tell you a thing about dangling participles, but I could pick that ponytail out of a lineup any day. I tossed the rock back into the gravel driveway, calling out as she made a beeline toward an old Dodge van painted with the Coral Grill logo.

“Leaving so soon?”

She stopped short, seeming surprised I’d spoken and reluctant to answer. “Yeah, just dropping off the food.”

“Ah, Coral Grill, huh?”

“Yeah,” she said, glancing at the van and back at me like it was a redundant question. I felt like an idiot, but only for the moment before Ellie’s lips parted in a soft smile. “It’s my aunt’s restaurant. I’m just helping out over Christmas break to make some extra money for college.”

I wasn’t surprised she’d gone off to college. Ellie was always the first to raise her hand in English class, and definitely seemed too smart to be mixing with George’s crowd, or with me for that matter. It didn’t stop me from trying though.

“Gainesville or Tallahassee?” I asked as she started to turn away.

Eleanor gave a confused look for a moment before it dawned on her. “Oh, for college? Neither, yet. I’m just here at FKCC for now.”

So shehadn’tmoved away. That was good news. I started to ask, “What’re you stu…” But she asked me at the same time, “Are you a local?”

Cocking my head, I realized she didn’t recognize me. “I am. Spencer Rodman.” I stuck out my hand, briefly struck withpanic when she looked at it like she had to think twice before shaking it.

“Eleanor Russell,” she said, finally giving my hand a firm shake. “My friends call me Ellie.”

I chuckled. “I know. I sat two seats back from you in Mr. Hollowell’s English class junior year.”

“Oh,” she said with an embarrassed giggle, her cheeks flushing pink. “Sorry.”

“That’s alright. You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.” I’d craned my neck to see around Jimmy Felton, admiring her perfect blonde ponytail all year. “Where’re you rushing off to, Ellie? You got big plans for New Year's Eve?”

“Nah, not till tomorrow. My family does a New Year's Day fish fry. But tonight I’ll probably just get ahead on reading for my marketing course next semester.”

“You can’t study on New Year's Eve, that’s bogus!” I flashed a smile. “Stay here. I can make you my guest.” Not that I had any authority to do so. But no one would think twice about her hanging out in the parking lot with me and Waylan. “Ringing in 1982 here would be a lot more fun than reading marketing books alone.”

Ellie looked toward the house, erupting with Salsa music and laughter, and winced. “Parties aren’t really my scene,”

She was too prim and proper for this crowd, but I was wracking my brain for how to convince her to hang out with me and Waylan on our boring post, when he appeared. Awkwardly clutching something very poorly hidden under his starched white dress shirt, and grinning from ear to ear, he pulled out a bottle of rum. “The good news is, there’s still plenty of rum,” he said, flashing his pearly whites, “butapparently they miscalculated the champagne order. They’re almost out. George needs us to get four cases for the midnight toast.”

“Where’re we gonna get that at nine o’clock on New Year’s Eve?” I asked, dubious. “Nothing’s open.”

“Pfft,” Waylan scoffed, reminding how silly it was to think George shopped in stores. “George has a guy down in Grassy Key.” Waylan fished the limo keys out of his pocket, turning to Ellie. “You coming?”

I flashed Ellie a roguish grin. “Is a limo ride more your scene?”

“You want me to go with you toGrassy Key?” It was only 30 minutes south but you’d think it was Siberia from the way she said it. Ellie eyed the sleek black stretched Lincoln. “In a limo?”

I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t convinced that a night with us would be more fun than a textbook. But, to my complete and utter amazement, she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Yeah, why not? Beats studying.”

The last day of 1981 was turning out to be the best. I could have jumped for joy, but I tried to keep my cool. “You wanna sit in the back?” I asked, reaching for the door handle.

“Alone?” She smiled across the hood of the Lincoln at Waylan. “We can’t leave him up front by himself.”

I hadn’t intended to sit in the backwith her, but I like that her mind went straight there. “I’ll keep him company up front if you want the VIP experience. We can roll down the partition.” I’d checked out all the limo’s bells and whistles earlier, when Waylan and I were pretending to be in one ofthose music videos on MTV, belting out John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero,” lamenting that Lennon never had a chance to make a music video since he’d died nine months before the first cable music channel had launched.

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