From grade school to high school, Amber Mullin was always voted the prettiest girl in her class. There weren't that many pretty girls in the southwest Baltimore neighborhood where she had lived her entire life. It was a place of two and three-story, nineteenth-century row homes of red brick, some covered with Formstone. A century earlier, the place had been home to Irish-American railroad workers, and a century later, its status as a blue-collar, mostly all-white, working-class neighborhood had not changed. It was a gritty place with gritty people, people who worked hard at vocational and labor-intensive jobs, people who didn't ask for or expect handouts.
Amber worked part-time through high school at Elite, a dry-cleaning business, and then full-time after graduation. On weekends, she spent most of her time with Frank Hill, her steady boyfriend. Frank knew he was a lucky guy. Amber, as he was wont to say, was "the greatest thing this boy had ever found," quoting a favorite Top-40 oldie of his.
Amber lived with her parents and usually took a bus to work, about ten miles from her home. It was located in a strip mall in an upscale part of the city. She admired, if not envied the single, spacious homes of the surrounding neighborhood and the fine clothes many of her customers wore. They talked like they were educated, unlike the people where she lived, a place where too many dropped out of high school, a place where college was an all but impossible dream.
Douglas Gibbens was one of her customers. She wasn't sure what he did, but whatever it was, it paid well, judging from the expensive looking suits he brought in for cleaning. He was good-looking, too, looked like a younger version of those British guys who played James Bond. She knew he drove a sports car, having seen him pull into the lot which faced the big picture window of Elite.
At first, she called him Mr. Gibbens, even though he didn't look more than a few years older than she. Then, months down the road, after he had become a regular customer, they got on a first-name basis. "You can call me Doug," he had said after he began calling her Amber. He was always pleasant, always smiling.
One day, she got up the nerve to ask what he did. "My family owns a few businesses," he said. "An automobile dealership and a clothing store We're also into commercial real estate." He pulled a business card from his wallet and handed it to her.
She wondered what family he meant, if it included a wife. She didn't think so. Either that or he didn't wear his wedding ring. She sensed that he found her pretty, just by the way he looked at her. It was a look she knew well. Her long blond hair, blue eyes and wide smile, coupled with her slim, shapely figure, got her noticed. She was used to that sort of male attention, though she never tired of it. She sometimes wondered if it could be her ticket to a better life.
She turned the card over. "Do you sell women's clothes too?"
He nodded. "Absolutely. If you or any of your girlfriends need clothes, check us out. And that goes for cars also."
Amber could barely afford new clothes and buying her own car at that time was out of the question. Her family had but one car, an aging Chevy. "Well, maybe in a couple years," she said. "I've been saving for a car. Anyway, my boyfriend drives me around on weekends."
"Ah, your boyfriend," he said, handing his soiled clothes to her over the counter. "Pretty girls like you always have a boyfriend. Going steady, are you?"
"Kind of," she said. "I mean, I don't wear his ring or anything like that. "But we've been together since I was seventeen."
"I see. Well, if you ever break up, let me know." He winked.
She blushed, feeling her fair complexion turning a light pink. Then she said, "I'd think a handsome guy like you would have a steady also."
"Nope. No steady and no wife either." He started to turn away, then said, "Have you ever driven in an Austin-Healey?"
"Can't say that I have. Is that that green sports car I've seen you in?"
"Yep. And if you ever want a ride in it, let me know. I might even let you drive it. Can you drive a stick?" When she shook her head, he said, "Too bad, because it's loads of fun."
She thought about Doug's offer for the rest of the day. Was he trying to steal her away from Frank or just playing with her? She was damn sure a guy like that, with looks and money and education, could never get serious with a girl from the other side of the tracks. She was wise enough to know that to guys like him, girls like her were good for only one thing. She might be poor, but she had her scruples, and she wasn't going to let some guy use her and then, when he'd had enough, toss her out like some dirty dishrag. 'No, I'm not that kind of chick,' she thought, peering through the window, watching him climb into his Austin-Healey and then pull away.
Two weeks passed before she saw Doug again. "Off today?" she asked in a teasing, friendly tone, seeing that he wore khakis and an open collar sports shirt rather than his usual dressy attire.
"Good guess, I am," he said, hauling a bag of dirty clothes on the counter. "Do you always work on Saturday?"
"Just part-time today," she said. "I get off at noon." She glanced at her watch. "Only fifteen minutes to go."
He smiled and said, "Well then, how about that ride in my car? I'll even treat you to lunch."
So now it was lunch as well. She knew that most girls in her position wouldn't hesitate for a second. His looks alone, the dark brown eyes and hair, his chiseled features and his height—he was a six-footer at least, she figured—was enough to make the girls she knew swoon. She wasn't immune to his charms. Honestly, she'd love for him to take her for a spin in his cool green machine and then out to lunch. And he wouldn't be taking her to some dive, she was sure of that, but to some place nice.
"Okay, sure," she said. "But am I dressed okay?" She wore jeans and a white blouse, typical for work.
He looked her over. "Perfect, just perfect. I'll wait in my car and then we'll go."
That fifteen minutes couldn't go fast enough for her. She shared her giddiness with Thelma, an older co-worker, that the "tall handsome guy who comes in here every two weeks or so" was taking her out to lunch in his "fancy sports car."
"Oh, you lucky kid," Thelma said. "Have fun." Then she added, grinning with a finger over her lips, "But don't tell Frank."
