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The autumn air in Levittown is crisp, carrying the sharp scent of decaying leaves and the faint, distant rumble of the Southern State Parkway. Inside the Morton household, the tension is thick enough to slice with a garden spade. Ever since June, Geraldo has been parading his new admirer, Geraldine, around the living room. It is an exhausting dynamic; she spends half her time scoffing at his grand musical ambitions and the other half fiercely defending his honor to anyone who dares look at him sideways. Eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of their father’s latest romantic saga, Connie, Reginald, and Lauren scramble out the back door and pile into the cab of Becky Sue’s faded teal pickup truck.
The vinyl bench seat is cold beneath them, smelling of old sheet music and unleaded gasoline. Becky Sue pumps the gas pedal twice, turns the key, and smiles as the engine roars to life with a comforting, throaty rattle. She shifts into gear and looks over at her siblings, her hands steady on the oversized steering wheel.
"First stop is the downtown bank," she tells them plainly. "I need to pitch a loan officer on funding a proper demo tape, and after that, I'm going to find a good, busy corner near the main strip to set up my guitar case and play."
Connie bounces in her seat, her perpetual optimism shining through a bright grin that completely ignores the gray November chill. She is perfectly content to just go along for the ride, finding beauty in a simple Saturday-afternoon escape. Reginald, however, is slumped against the passenger door, his arms crossed over his chest in a posture of pure, unadulterated preteen pessimism.
"Can you drop me off at Yohe & Sons Hardware?"
"Sure, buddy. You got a new life mission, or are you and Lolly going to build a clubhouse?"
"I'm gonna buy wire mesh and scrap wood to build a better trap—one designed specifically to keep the neighborhood doctors far away from our porch."
Becky Sue purses her lips but says nothing. Anyone can tell that he's still deeply bitter about the betrayal he suffered back in April, when a house-call doctor gave him a particularly agonizing penicillin shot "down there" to combat a stubborn case of the flu. He vows he will never be caught off guard like that again.
Down on the floorboards, Lauren kicks her legs, completely tuned out of her brother's medical paranoia. She gently pats the front pocket of her corduroy jacket, confirming the satisfying jingle of her saved-up allowance. She has every single cent accounted for, earmarked specifically for a brand-new 45 rpm record she intends to buy at Rudy’s Music. Between her rigorous gymnastics routines and junior cheerleading practices, she has been humming the same radio snippets for weeks, and she is desperate to finally own the full track.
The teal pickup rolls to a stop along the bustling downtown strip, a convenient stretch of pavement where all three establishments sit within walking distance of one another. As the engine idles, Reginald suddenly lets out a sharp, ragged cough. He freezes, his eyes widening in panic, and immediately tries to hide it by clearing his throat and pretending to examine a smudge on the window. The last thing he needs is anyone thinking he is getting sick again. Connie notices, but chooses to pivot the conversation toward a much happier prospect. She turns to Becky Sue, batting her eyelashes playfully.
"Could I have a dime for the diner's jukebox?"
Becky Sue catches her eye in the rearview mirror and laughs softly, "Oh? Do you plan to just hang out at the diner all afternoon?" She knows that once her bank meeting concludes, she will likely end up performing right outside on that very corner, making the diner a prime viewing spot. "Or," Becky Sue teasingly inquires, "are you and your special friend going to take the ferry to go see the Statue of Liberty again, just like you did last month?"
Connie immediately hums a loud, dismissive note, her cheeks flushing a quick pink as she looks out the side window. Seizing the opportunity, Reginald leans forward with a wicked grin, loudly teasing his sister.
"Connie has a boyfriend, Connie has a boyfriend!"
"I do not!" She fiercely denies, her voice rising an octave as she claims, "We're just good friends who happen to appreciate historical landmarks."
Before the argument can escalate into a full-blown backseat wrestling match, Lauren cuts right through the bickering. She presses her face against the glass and points a mittened finger out toward the cross street.
"Look!" She loudly announces. "It's your boyfriend, Becky Sue!"
The siblings turn to see Franklin, visible in the distance. He's walking down the sidewalk, his varsity jacket slung over his shoulder, still carrying himself with the slight, heavy-hearted slouch of a quarterback who hasn't quite moved past losing the big football game back in August. He turns the corner and walks right into The Great American Melting Pot, a wildly popular dual-style fondue-and-hot pot restaurant perfectly situated at the bustling cultural intersection of Little Italy and Chinatown.
Shifting her attention back to the logistics of the afternoon, Connie turns back to her older sister. "How long do you think you'll be playing for the downtown crowds?"
Becky Sue considers this. "I figure it'll take about two to three hours to get a good set in, and hopefully fill my guitar case with decent spare change."
Hearing this, Reginald’s pessimistic scowl completely vanishes, replaced by a rare look of genuine enthusiasm. "Please, please, can we eat dinner at the melting pot restaurant once you finish your set? I mean, where else in the world can a kid dip crisp American apples right into a pot of melted Swiss cheese?"
Intrigued by the idea and softened by her siblings' rare moment of shared excitement, Becky Sue nods her approval and agrees to the plan. With the itinerary officially set, the heavy truck doors finally pop open, and the siblings spill out into the crisp New York afternoon.