A big, long car deserves a big, long story. This one will take a week to tell, a new installment, a new car every day this week, with the conclusion on Sunday.

True to the routine laid out by his mother, Perry and Mr. Holden rolled into Phoenix early Sunday evening after a hot, humid ride from Santa Fe and checked into a surprisingly comfortable motel on the outskirts of town near the local stockyards.  Perry was unhappy as, originally, his fervent wish was to completely avoid Phoenix and its legendary summertime heat, but, as Cal put it, they had to modify their preferred plans due to “exigent circumstances.”

Prior to their departure, the desk clerk at the at the El Rey motor court in Santa Fe, aware of the pair’s destination, provided two items of helpful information. First, portions of Route 66 between Gallup and Winslow, the most direct route to Flagstaff, were washed out due to thundershowers and flash flooding. He recommended taking a southern route using US 60 through Show Low, Globe and Apache Junction and approaching Phoenix from the east. “It’ll be hotter ‘n blazes late afternoon, but, have dinner in an air cooled cafe, check in to your motel, get your business done early Monday and get the hell outta there up towards Flagstaff and you’ll avoid the heat of the day.”

The second bit of information had to do with finding lodging for Cal. “You’ll find Phoenix less tolerant regarding Negroes, than here,” he advised, “even if they’re butlers, maids or chauffeurs. Let me recommend a motel called the Longhorn. It’s a working man’s place, not luxurious, but real nice and it’s air conditioned. That’s a plus, especially since it’s right near the cattle pens and meat processing houses east of Phoenix. A lot of the cattlemen stay there, both the cowboys and their bosses. No hassles.” Perry and Holden exchanged looks and, appreciative of the information and the spirit in which it was offered, gave each other a single nod of assent. Perry addressed the clerk, “Well, thank you for the tips. Sounds like that should work out real well.”

The clerk, a middle-aged Hispanic man seemed pleased his recommendations were well-received. “And you gentlemen might enjoy a good steak dinner at a  restaurant close by. Called the Stockyards. Opened about five, years ago. People coming through here give it high praise.” Perry acknowledged the additional bit of information and extended his hand to the man. “Thank you again, sir. You have been so very helpful.”  As he spoke, Perry extracted a five dollar bill from his wallet and slid it discreetly into the clerk’s hand as they shook hands.  

Perry and Mr Holden checked intro the Longhorn Motel in plenty of time for an early dinner, but learned that the Stockyards steak house had burned to the ground the previous month. Regardless, they were now in Phoenix and there was no question they’d be at the Valley National Bank when it opened the next morning for the prearranged weekly disbursement of cash and whatever wisdom Mrs. Silverman might have chosen to send along with it. The pair opted for a less elaborate meal at a modest trucker’s cafe near the motel. They talked about their time in Santa Fe, Perry’s mother’s friend, the scenery, and just how different New Mexico was from Texas, though they shared a common border. 

“Why do you suppose your mother made arrangements for you to spend time with Miss Georgia,” Holden asked.

Perry thought about it. “I suppose to see her art, her inspiration, her way of life. Face it, it’s a whole different world in Santa Fe.”

“What do you take from the experience?” Holden asked.

“There’s beauty in everything if you look at it from the right perspective,” Perry said. “I mean she painted skulls and dead trees, and animal bones, but made them look like real art. Based on what they were selling for, some damn expensive art!”

“What of her, personally?” Holden pressed.

“Unique as anyone I’ve ever met,” Perry said. “Not married. Rides a motorcycle around the desert in search of inspiration. Nothing about her fits into any kind of a mold I’ve ever seen.” Holden nodded silently in assent.

They talked about how they would pass the week in Arizona. Perry wanted to see the vastness of the Grand Canyon, maybe spend a day in the mountains. “I have no desire to stay any longer in Phoenix than necessary. After we collect our cash tomorrow, we’ll be on our way north towards Prescott and in Flagstaff by late afternoon.

Collecting the weekly cash envelope in downtown Phoenix went smoothly enough. This week, as in Santa Fe, there was an additional note from Mrs.Silverman, advising Perry that the next week’s envelope could be collected in Las Vegas, rather than Carson City, Nevada’s state capital. It was uncanny how his mother anticipated his route. At one point Perry and Mr. Holden had discussed an itinerary after leaving New Mexico, of Colorado, Utah, Nevada and then California, but in the end, opted for the Arizona route. 

It was 11:00 AM, and, as the two travelers in the Packard sedan were leaving Phoenix, making time for a quick lunch seemed to be appropriate. As Mr. Holden navigated the big car north on Central Avenue, he called out to Perry in the back seat, “Wow! There’s a hamburger stand for you!” while indicating the shiny, new red and white restaurant off to the right with odd yellow arches on either side of the structure. “Have you ever heard of McDonald’s? Sure never have seen anything like that. Wanna try it?”

If for no other reason than the novelty of eating at such a bizarre place, Perry replied in the affirmative, thinking to himself that he’d probably never see another place like this in his life.

The trip north to the higher elevations in the middle of the state produced the desired result: lower temperatures. After a brief stop in Prescott’s historic town square to stretch their legs, the rest of the journey was pleasant and uneventful. The two checked into the historic Hotel Monte Vista in downtown Flagstaff late that afternoon.

It was easy to imagine the town just fifty years ago as a bustling territorial center of government and commerce. Prescott had left a similar impression on them in their short visit there earlier. At the turn of the century, before Arizona was a state, both places would have been populated with a cast of characters out of a John Ford western movie, all wearing big Stetson hats and a Colt six-shooter on the hip. It looked to Perry like Flagstaff had been settled entirely by a family named Babbitt. There was a Babbitt Ford dealership, food markets, law offices and other businesses with the family name prominently painted on brick facades. At one time, according to a local filling station attendant, there was an even a Babbitt Opera House, now a movie theater.  In anticipation of their sightseeing plans, Perry and Holden bought outdoor clothing and hiking boots at the Babbitt Mercantile and Indian Trading store in the town center.

Using Flagstaff as their home base, time passed far more quickly than Perry thought it would. An overnight stay at the El Tovar hotel on the South Rim of the Grand Canyon enabled Perry and Holden to witness not only a Canyon sunset but a sunrise as well, presenting the pair with a front-row seat to witness one of the most magnificent sights on Earth from their hotel room windows. 

Leaving the Grand Canyon the next day, the two detoured to Humphreys Peak on their way back to Flagstaff to make the five-mile trek up to the top of the highest mountain in the state. Perry was surprised Holden could keep up with him, step for step, the entire way to the top. They both slept late the next morning. In the following days, there were day trips to the Meteor Crater, Sedona and Sycamore Canyon, a location featured in that month’s Arizona Highways which Perry had purchased at the hotel newsstand. Perry’s “downtime” mostly in the evenings, he spent writing thank-you notes for graduation gifts (at Holden’s urging), or notes to Susan back home, where he talked of them being together forever once he got back.

Immersion in the stunning landscapes of Northern Arizona was verging on sensory overload for both Perry and Mr. Holden. Perry found himself reflecting with amazement that he had initially resisted the elaborate trip planned by his mother for his graduation present. He had experienced more wonderful landscapes and stunning vistas in the past two weeks than he had in all four years at Jim Bowie High School, and he continued to regard with awe his meeting and personal interactions with Georgia, his mothers artist friend from years ago.

The drive to Las Vegas Sunday was without much incident, save Perry’s amazement at seeing Boulder Dam and the Lake Mead reservoir in person. While he knew of the significance of the massive water project and had seen photographs of the dam and lake, the effect of seeing it first-hand was something else altogether.  Unlike the Grand Canyon or Sedona red rocks, it was men who had made their mark on the landscape he now beheld. Smart men had designed the giant structure and fabricated the water turbines buried deep within it. Strong, brave men had constructed it under dangerous circumstances and often intolerable heat. What manner of contributions to the world would he make as an adult, Perry wondered? He silently conceded to himself that he had a long way to go before he knew as much as he thought he did. Grudgingly, it then occurred to the boy that his mothers plan was likely having the exact effect on him that she had intended.

As the miles passed and the two neared Las Vegas, Perry asked Holden questions about the psychology of gambling. What made it attractive? What made it addictive? Why was it illegal in some places, but not in others? When they checked into the Flamingo Hotel that evening, Perry wasn’t prepared for the outlandishness of such a place. Certainly as different from Fort Stockton as different could possibly be. This was the Lucky Lady Lounge carried to the umpteenth order of magnitude!  “What do you suppose the electric bill is at each of these places, just for the lights?” he asked, more or less rhetorically.

Rather than speculate, Holden turned the question around. “How much do you suppose they have to make off every person who walks in to pay it every month?” Perry just smiled. After checking in, he said he wanted to see what all the fuss was about and went over to the slot machines. Holden took a seat close by, but didn’t partake. Perry lost over a hundred dollars in short order. Disappointed at how quickly his mother’s money had slipped through his fingers, he made arrangements with the concierge to buy tickets to see Shecky Greene at the Stardust later that evening.

Perry and Holden drew a fair number of sidelong looks, even in a place as tolerant of unusual pairings as Las Vegas. Had Holden not been identifiably garbed as an employee, hackles might have been raised to a much greater degree. The casinos, however, were tolerant of “high rollers” accompanied by their own chauffeurs, who were usually able to assist their sometimes totally inebriated employers out of the industrial-strength drinking and gambling establishments with a minimum of confrontation after having lost a bundle of money, sobriety and dignity — preferable to employing the casinos’ own “bouncers” and security staff.

The Packard Executive Sedan helped paint a picture that most accepted and moved on without questioning. The first night in Las Vegas yielded an assortment of lessons and surprises. The trip to First National Bank of Las Vegas in the morning would, as well.

After handing over the all-important envelope to Perry and obtaining his signature on a receipt, the bank manager excused himself and left Perry and Mr. Holden alone in his office for a bit of privacy. Along with the cash from his mother was a smaller envelope with his name written on the outside in a familiar feminine cursive hand, overly loopy and with swirly lines underneath, for added emphasis. Perry recognized the writing as Susan’s. The note tucked inside explained bluntly that she had tried to wait for him, but found the temptation to stray to be too great. “I’ve started dating Braxton. I hope you understand, and that we can still be friends whenever you get back home.”

The revelation was a cruel and unexpected blow, made worse by the fact that Braxton had been Perry’s best friend since second grade, and Perry had been gone for less than a month! It was a double blow of betrayal, and Perry couldn’t quite determine which was worse. The two together were like a punch to the gut. “We need to head back to the hotel. I don’t feel well,” he told Holden.

Holden didn’t know what had caused the sudden change, and didn’t want to ask. Perry gathered up the envelopes, the cash, and his pride and they headed out to the Packard. “No, wait. I want to go to the Bunny Ranch,” Perry said from the backseat. “I’ve read about it. I know where it is.”

Holden looked at him in the rearview mirror, nodding his head back and forth. “I would think about that before you decide for sure.”

“I can get a cab if I need to,” Perry shot back.

“I’m paid to drive you,” Holden told him. “and to keep you from doing anything illegal. It’s not my job to keep you from doing something stupid.”

They made their way to the Bunny Ranch and Holden pulled up in front of the gaudy red and gold “Bunny Ranch” sign, next to an off white 1950 Cadillac Series 62 convertible. Perry opened the rear door, got out and waited for Holden to join him. Holden gave him a glance, shook his head in the negative and turned his gaze back to the windshield.

Inside, Perry was quickly paired with Kandy, the owner of the Cadillac convertible and Perry’s paramour for the next hour. She provided, at no extra charge, the details of purchasing the car as a coupe and having a body shop in town remove its top. She removed her own as she told that part of the story. The precision and timing led Perry to believe it wasn’t the first time a well-practiced story had been told to entertain and relax a new client.

Perry’s virginity was lost more quickly than his hundred bucks at the slot machines, despite Kandy’s best efforts to extend her services to fill up the entire hour. “It’ll be embarrassing if I leave this quick,” Perry admitted.

”Is your mother waiting for you out front?” Kandy laughed.

“Closer to the truth than you’d think, but no,” Perry replied. “Tell me about your Cadillac. Must have cost you a fortune to have the top cut off a coupe and made into a convertible.”

“Not a cent,” she winked. Perry snickered and turned red as a beet. “Why not just buy a convertible?”

“Because the Cadillac salesman had morals,” Kandy said. “It was luxury on a budget. I’m sure you get the concept.”

Perry wanted to ask her more questions. About the car. About her career. About whoever she was before she became ‘Kandy’. Then he remembered his own nakedness and was embarrassed by everything that had happened since he left the bank.

“She wasn’t worth it,” Kandy said.

 Perry looked up, shocked at the comment, as he pulled his trousers on one leg at a time. “What?”

“You don’t think you’re the first kid who’s come in here after getting dumped, do you?” she asked. “And you called me Susan at one point.” Perry looked down at his shoes, regretting every bad decision he’d ever made in life and even reevaluating the good ones.  “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been called a lot worse. You were sweet.”

Perry reached into his pocket and peeled off a twenty dollar bill and handed it to her. “Keep it, darlin’. I already gave myself a tip from your pocket while you were cleaning up.”

Perry made his way down the maze of hallways and rooms and back to the front door. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone inside. Outside, he walked quickly towards the Packard as Holden started the engine. He slowed as he passed the custom Cadillac convertible, running his fingers over the curves, and noting the two huge chrome “Dagmars” on the front bumper. He had a new appreciation for their size and shape.

There were countless times after that, and for years later, that Perry would do all he could to completely forget that entire experience. And then, much later, there would be times when he would strain to remember every last detail. The ride back to the Flamingo was the first time Perry and Holden had been completely silent since they’d left Fort Stockton and headed to Amarillo.