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The third chapter in a seven part series.

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Milt and Sheila Sherman had been residents of Phase II in RoadRunner Estates longer than anyone else, having moved in in early 1956.  They’d picked the Hacienda plan, situated on one of the 55’ wide lots.  The Hacienda plan was one of the more unusual in that it traded a second bathroom on the inside for a bricked-in side yard on the outside.  Sheila was committed to sunbathing nude every chance she got, and the outdoor space was important to her.  Milt enjoyed grilling, and watching Sheila enjoy herself, so he was easy to convince.  Sheila’s pastime of tanning in the buff was not diminished when Gilbert and Patsy Runnels built the two story home next door, much to Gilbert’s pleasure.

The Sherman’s Hacienda plan was one of the few homes in RoadRunner Estates that had neither a garage or carport, so their 1950 Chevrolet Fleetline was exposed to the harsh Fort Stockton elements year round.  The weather had not been kind to the Chevy and it was showing its age, though only seven years old.  That didn’t bother Milt, but Sheila was a little put off by driving around with something so obviously past its prime.  (The Chevrolet, not necessarily Milt.)

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Sheila was a stay-at-home mother to the couple’s two children.  She was referred to as a housewife at the time, a term that had positive connotations in 1957.  Besides being perpetually tan, she kept fit and was an attractive woman.  She had a propensity to stop in and see Rod Hardin, the salesman in the development, under the pretense of warranty issues, or gardening advice.  Often she’d end up staying for a cup of coffee or to enjoy a KOOL menthol or two and catch up on the goings-on in Phase I.  Rod, despite his manly physique and movie star good looks, was a gossip and seemed to have the latest dirt on everybody in RoadRunner Estates.

Milt was an ocularist, the only one in Fort Stockton.  In fact, the only one in all of southwest Texas, so his business was thriving.  He had fallen into the profession by accident, but obviously had a talent for it.  It started out as a hobby down in his parent’s basement, turning small wads of balled up newspaper and paper-mâché into round spheres and then painting them to look like eyeballs with tempera paint.  While it tended to creep out friends and dates, he kept at it and eventually learned how to blow glass into round balls making them even more human-like.  That’s also where he picked up his love for grilling, as well.

By the time Milt and Sheila were engaged, he was selling prosthetic eyeballs from a production line in his parent’s two-car garage.  Folks said they couldn’t tell the difference between a real eyeball and a ‘Sherman I-2020’.  Once he got the contracts to be the exclusive supplier of prosthetic eyeballs for The Facility and the Proving Grounds, he and Sheila were guaranteed the income they needed to be married.  Two children quickly followed.  By then Milt had set up shop next to White Automotive, just a 15 minute drive from RoadRunner Estates.

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Besides Sheila’s sunbathing, the Shermans were known in the subdivision for the parties they’d throw.  The events would start off with Milt grilling in the brick wall-enclosed backyard and Sheila serving themed frozen daiquiris on the covered back porch.  After the guests had loosened up a little, there were Hula Hoop contests, bubble-gum blowing competitions, and eventually challenges to see who could Name That Tune quickest.  At some point, neighbors would start seeing floating glass eyeballs in their drinks and Milt would slap them on the back and exclaim, “Here’s looking at you!” before fishing the prosthetic eyeballs out of the glass to reuse for the next party, or injury.

Folks still talk about the Christmas Party of 1956 at the Sherman’s place.  Most everybody was drunk by the time Milt and Sheila handed out Christmas gifts for every couple in Phase II, a brand new set of Lawn Darts.  “That’s just Milt, drumming up business,” Vernon Panola from down the street said when he opened his.

When Sheila stopped by the model home for a cup of coffee and a cigarette after the kids had caught the bus for school and Milt had headed into work, she undid the top two buttons of her blouse, just to be flirty.  Rod always seemed to appreciate her being flirty.  “Looks like times must be good over in Phase II,” Rod said as he set Sheila’s Folgers down in front of her.  “New cars are popping up in driveways faster than bluebonnets out east of town.”

With the brick wall around most of the yard and being naked a good bit of the time, Sheila hadn’t taken note of the new Ford Fairlane 500, nor the Plymouth Belvedere next to her and across the street.

“Is Milt’s business doing okay?” Rod asked while admiring Sheila’s cleavage.  He shifted in his chair just a bit.

“Of course,” Sheila noted.  “Never been better.  He’s up to his eyeballs at work.”

Of course, Rod was up to his own eyeballs in cleavage and wasn’t really paying attention to her reply.  The two of them emptied the pot of Folgers and smoked half a pack of KOOLs before Sheila made her way back to the Hacienda to catch some rays.  Despite the intensity of the full Texas sun, it was cooler in her backyard than it had been in the model home sales office.  She couldn’t wait to get her clothes off.

When Milt got home that evening, Sheila was still out in the backyard, slathering on a mixture of baby oil and iodine, and roasting in the sun like a chicken on the spit.  The kids were planted in front of the TV watching Tales of Wells Fargo and sipping Hawaiian Punch.  Their mother’s nudity was a long accepted way of life that they just accepted without notice, unlike Gilbert Runnels in his upstairs bedroom next door.  “How was your day?” Milt asked his wife as he stepped out into the backyard and handed her a Hawaiian Punch spiked with vodka.  Gilbert Runnels ducked back behind the curtains next door.

“Apparently we’re the only ones in Phase II not getting a new car!” she said in a tone that sounded disgruntled.  Milt hated it when Sheila was unhappy.

“Have you had coffee with Rod today?” he asked.

“Yes.  He’s the one that told me.  I didn’t know about the new cars in every driveway till he pointed it out.  And here we are, with a 1950 model tank and not even a carport or garage to hide it in!”  She seemed perplexed.

“As luck would have it, there was a disturbance out at the Fort Stockton Water Treatment Plant this morning.  Surprised you didn’t see it on the news.  Mayor Goodman called and offered me the contract for all the prosthetics for those injured.  Human sewage does cruel things to the eyes.”  Milt looked away for a moment.  “Anyway, we’re just negotiating the mayor’s finder’s fee and I’ll have more work than I can see over for a while.  Maybe it’s time for a new car.”

“Finder’s fee?” Sheila grumbled.  “You’re the only ocularist in southwest Texas!  Who else are they gonna call?”  Milt ignored the question, choosing to focus on that which he had control over instead.

As the drapes fluttered in the window of the house next door, Sheila rose and toweled herself off and followed Milt into the house to shower and get ready.  The family stopped at the Dairy Twin for dinner, Sheila being too exhausted from the day to cook before heading to Cactus Chev-OLDS.

Once at the dealership, Milt and Sheila went round and round over what model and what color of ’57 Chevy to go with.  Milt wanted a black Nomad; Sheila had her heart set on a red Bel Air convertible.  Something she could work on her tan while driving.  In the end, price and practicality won out.  They took home a Dusk Pearl Poly Metallic and White Bel Air 4 door sedan, a model neither of them really cared for.

But it was new, and that was the main thing.  It had perky little Dagmar’s in front, something Sheila was anxious to point out to Rod next time they had coffee, and fins in the back, so it looked like the other modern cars in Phase II.  It had chrome down the sides and a dog-leg windshield.  The Shermans were sure their new car would remain in style for years to come, unlike the ’50 Fleetline they were trading in.

Milt always carried around a couple loose eyeballs in his pocket, ones he’d discovered flaws in that couldn’t be sold.  He put them in the glove box of the old Fleetline for the next owner to discover the first time he lifted the owner’s manual out.  Guaranteed to scare the bejeezus out of anyone, it was a gag that never got old.

When they got home Milt and Sheila parked the new Bel Air out front, not by choice, but for lack of covered parking.  Wendell Yoakum, from across the street, waved and said, “Love the new car!” as he went into the house.  He thought to himself once inside how glad he was he went with the Ford Fairlane 500.  “No comparison,” he told Anita who was sliding in four Swanson TV dinners from the Piggly Wiggly into the oven for dinner.

Virgil Winkler, standing in the garage of his house on the other side of the Shermans couldn’t help but note how much the new Chevrolet the Shermans drove home looked like his Belvedere.  He cursed the Plymouth and vowed to move up to Chrysler as soon as he could.

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