The ranch was Rio Verde's sole claim to fame. A four star resort, it had been built in the 1950s by a hotel mogul from back East who had been suckered into buying investment land in Rio Verde sight unseen.
Determined to turn a lemon into lemonade, the mogul had built the Rocking D and had then proceeded to place advertisements for his 'guest ranch' in such unconventional places as National Geographic and Modern Equestrian magazines. His strategy had worked, and while Rio Verde had been too far from civilization to ever make it a resort mecca, the Rocking D did generate a consistent profit. Ads for the ranch still appeared periodically on TBS and other cable stations, although, like the rest of the town, the ranch had lately fallen on hard times and had seen much of its business defect to Scottsdale and Laughlin.
Janine was waiting in front of her house in her cowgirl uniform, nervously banging her purse against her thigh, when Sue pulled up. She had the passenger door opened and was inside almost before Sue had stopped the car.
'What's the hurry? We'll make it.'
'Yeah, but I have to be there on time. I was already late once last week, and let's just say my supervisor is not exactly my best friend.'
. Sue turned around at the end of the cul-de-sac and headed back toward the highway. They passed a corner where three raggedy-looking elementary schoolchildren waited for the bus.
'Did you get that schedule for Pueblo College?' Sue asked.
Janine shrugged. 'I think so.'
'I'm thinking of taking a few classes this semester. Classes start next week.'
'You're driving all the way to Globe?'
'Of course not. They have extension classes at the high school here on weeknights. Didn't you read the schedule?' :
Janine shook her head. 'No. But it doesn't matter. I wouldn't go back to school anyway. I'm over, done, and through with that crap. I promised myself on the day I graduated that I would never set foot in another classroom again.' Sue smiled but said nothing. Her friend's attitude was not entirely foreign to her--it was an attitude shared by most of her ex-classmates---but she still thought it terribly shortsighted. Credits from the extension courses were accepted at Arizona State University, Northern Arizona University, and most of the community colleges throughout the state. There weren't many classes being offered right now, but there would be, and she knew that she could earn nearly enough credits to get an AA degree without leaving Rio Verde.
Of course, she had always planned on going to college. Her parents had wanted her to go to college too, but there simply hadn't been enough money. She'd received two partial scholarships based on her academic achievement and SAT scores, one from ASU and one from Pitzer College in California, but the key word had been 'partial.' Each of the scholarships would have paid for half of her tuition, but she would have had to come up with the other half herself, as well as money for books, food, lodging, and transportation. On the advice of her high school counselor, she had applied for a student loan, but for the past few years both the state and federal governments had been cutting back on the number of loans made available, and her application was rejected. When she'd called the Financial Aid Office at ASU to ask why, she was told that her parents had too much equity. They owned both their house and their restaurant, and although her family barely managed to eke out a living each month, on paper they had assets in excess of $100'O00--which made her ineligible for financial aid.
She had been doing everything she could over the past two years to save money for college: living at home, working full time, allowing herself only an occasional movie for entertainment. But while she still wanted to go to college to learn, her parents' priorities had shifted a bit.
They now thought of college as a place where she could look for a good husband.
Janine looked at her. 'Night classes, though...' Her voice trailed off.
'I don't want to think about it,' Sue said quickly.
Janine shivered. 'They said his body was totally drained of blood.
Like a vampire got him or something.'
'That's a cheerful thought first thing in the morning.' 'Well, you brought it up.'
'No, I didn't. You did. I just said I might take some classes.'
'Well, that's why I have to get there on time. I don't want to get transferred to the night shift. I may have to do some brown-nosing for a while, but I don't want to work all alone at that counter in the middle of the night. Not with some loony running around.'
Sue turned off Highway 370 onto Rocking D Road, glancing at the dashboard clock. Janine might be a minute or so late, but that was all. 'Do you need a ride home this afternoon?' she asked her friend.
Janine shook her head. 'I'll catch a ride with somebody.'
'You sure.'
'Yeah. Thanks for the lift, though. You saved me.' Sue pulled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the ranch house that served as a lobby. She looked from the western-style buildings to the fake boulders surrounding the two sculpted swimming pools. It always amazed her that people from other cities were willing to pay exorbitant amounts of money to spend a few nights here in Rio Verde.
She would pay money not to spend a few nights in Rio Verde.
'What are you doing Friday?' Janine said as she got out of the car.
'No plans yet. Why?'
'Let's do something then. Catch a movie, maybe.' 'Sounds good,' Sue said. 'Give me a. call.' 'Okay. Later.'
Sue watched her friend walk up the porch steps of the ranch house, then turned around, put the car into gear, and headed toward home.
There was plenty of used underwear at the Goodwill, and Sophocles Johnson bought it all.
Ordinarily, they sorted the clothes by color here, put ting blues with blues, whites with whites, browns with browns. But the underwear they lumped all together, regardless of the color or style, and he gathered up the rows of hangers from the rack without bothering to check the undergarments. Many of the panties and girdles were probably, soiled and worn through, most of the men's briefs were probably stained, but he didn't care. He piled them high on his arms, made his way down the aisle past an overweight woman who smelled of yesterday's sweat, and dumped the underwear on the taped cracked glass of the checkout counter. The old woman working at the cash register eyed him strangely, seemed even to be a little frightened of him, but he refused to give her any reassurance or any hint as to why he wanted the underclothes, and he stood silently, watching the numbers ring up on the electronic cash register.
'Nineteen-fifty,' the woman said.
He paid the money, watched mutely as the clerk placed the undergarments in an oversize plastic bag, then carried his purchase out the door and to his car. Grinning, feeling proud of himself, he drove through town and back to the bank. He was latemthe lunch hour had officially ended twenty minutes ago--but it didn't matter. That was one of the perks of presidency. He got to make rules and didn't necessarily have to follow them.
Sophocles parked at the side of the bank, near the instant teller machine, and took the bag from the passenger seat. The top of the bag had opened during the ride, and he could smell the undergarments inside, the fragrance at once acrid and somehow comforting. He got out of the car, slammed shut the door, and flung the bag over his shoulder, giggling because the act made him feel so damn much like Santa Claus.
And he was going to be like Santa, in a way. At least to his underlings.
No, his subjects. If he was the president' hey were his subjects.
He walked through the front door of the bank and across the lobby, the bag still slung over his shoulder.
He nodded to Susan Richman, the customer service of ricer, and said hello to Tammette Walker, the teller on duty. He was still grinning, unable to keep from smiling.
He felt so damn good, so proud of himself, so excited, so happy. It was hard to keep his plan a secret, hard not to blurt it out to everyone in the entire building, but he managed to restrain himself, and made it to his office without spilling either the beans or the bag. He closed and locked the door behind him. Pressing the intercom button on his phone, he told Marge Norson, his secretary, to hold all calls and fend off all corners, he was not to be disturbed.
He breathed deeply. This was a project. It would take him several days, maybe the entire week, but he would see it through, he would get it done.
He dumped the contents of the bag on the floor of his office, took the sewing kit from the bottom right
