Page 7 of Where It All Began
Have you hugged a tree today?
Don’t worry. Be hippie.
Clothing no longer optional.
Phoebe kept her nose glued to the window, afraid she would miss something, as John cruised down the block. He pulled into a slot on the end of the park between a movie theater and a pizzeria.
Peace of Pizza was impossible to miss with its bright purple awning. The windows were decorated with colorful bubble-lettered posters describing specials. She could see lava lamps burbling away inside.
“No. Way.”
“No way to pizza?” John asked.
“Huh? No. I mean yes. I definitely want pizza. I just can’t believe a place like this exists.”
“Good, because our choices are limited. There’s a custard place across the street, a diner on the other side of town, and a Wag’s about ten miles south of here.”
Phoebe’s stomach growled. “Nope. Pizza is perfect.”
She climbed out of her seat before John could make it around to open her door, but she wasn’t fast enough to beat him to the front door of the pizza shop. She stepped inside and into sensory overload.
The usual pizza place scents of marinara and oregano enveloped her. But that’s where typical stopped. The shop’s walls, carpeted in orange shag, held black and white prints of the Woodstock greats. Jimi Hendrix, Joan Baez, Arlo Guthrie. There were a dozen tables, half of them occupied. Each table had its own lava lamp in blues and oranges, and the salt and pepper shakers, when sat side-by-side, formed green and white peace signs. Phoebe sniffed the air as a server carrying a pie with a tomato sauce peace sign squeezed past.
“What brings you off the farm tonight, John?” A woman with ebony, waist-length dreadlocks and the flawless skin of a Cover Girl model leaned against the hostess stand. She wore a dashiki in faded burnt oranges and reds.
“Got an unexpected extra mouth to feed,” he said, jerking his thumb in Phoebe’s direction. “Lebanon bologna wasn’t going to cut it.”
The way the hostess grinned up at him, Phoebe guessed that might have been a slice of John Pierce humor.
“Phoebe, this is Bobby. She owns this establishment and makes the best sauce in five counties. Bobby, this is Phoebe the farm hand/grad student I was misled to believe was a man.”
Phoebe thrust her hand out to Bobby. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your shop is incredible, and I promise to enjoy it, even though I’m not a man.” She sent John a glowering look over her shoulder.
Bobby shook her hand with a firm grip and a white-toothed grin. “Man or woman, you’re welcome here.”
“That’s veryopen-mindedof you, Bobby.” Phoebe sent another pointed look in John’s direction. “I appreciate that.”
It was John’s turn to roll his eyes.
Bobby guided them to a purple upholstered booth along the wall under a framed picture of Janis Joplin in all her round glasses and headband glory. Phoebe took the side with her back to the wall so she could enjoy the comings and goings of Peace of Pizza’s patrons.
It was an eclectic crowd. Customers in business suits shared tables with others dressed in decades-old denim and faded 60s rock band t-shirts. There were more headbands than perms, and Phoebe realized that, for once, she fit right in with her long, straight hair. If John let her stay, maybe she could find one of those wide, tie-dye headbands. A souvenir, a memento of her summer here.
He had to let her stay,she thought, fingernails digging into her palms.Everything she’d been working for was riding on him.
John pushed his unopened menu to the edge of the table. “Pizza?” he asked, interlacing his long fingers on the table.
“Loaded?”
“Pepperoni,” he countered.
“Pepperoni, sausage, and green pepper.”
“Deal.” He offered her his hand over the table. “Large?”
Phoebe accepted his hand and shook, trying not to enjoy the callused texture of his palm against hers. Her stomach gave an unladylike gurgle. “Definitely large.” She set her menu aside and mirrored his posture. “You strike me as a man who values when someone gets to the point.”
John didn’t say anything to acknowledge that he’d heard her, but his eyes, reflecting the light of the turquoise bubbles in the lava lamp, held her gaze.
