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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."

Amber laughed. "I doubt there'll be much to tell, Thelma. It's not like it's a date or anything."

"You think he's just being nice? Come on, you're not that naïve."

Amber shrugged. "We'll see. But I guess you're right about not telling Frank. He'd flip out."

*****

The day was nearly perfect for tooling around in a sports car with the top down—springlike temperatures and partly sunny. "Where I'm taking you for lunch is in the valley, but I thought I'd first take you for a spin," Doug said, talking over the traffic noise and the wind. "If that's okay."

"More than okay," Amber said, brushing back the hair blowing over her face. "This is a thrill for me."

"Great!" Doug shifted into third gear past the traffic light on Falls Road, headed out to the semi-rural Greenspring Valley, a place of nineteenth century and early twentieth century country estates and recent scattered suburban development. Amber had been out here on family Sunday drives, "where the rich people live," her dad had said. She asked, "Do you live out here?"

"No, but our club is out here," he revealed. "Some of my relatives still live here."

No doubt, Doug and his relatives were the rich people her dad had mentioned. Our club...Amber had an idea of what he meant, some fancy-schmancy country club that cost a bundle to join, and that's only if you were part of high society. She began thinking about what Thelma had said and her own suspicions about what motivated him to do this with her, a poor clerk at a drycleaning establishment. Still, she meant what she said about being thrilled, being chauffeured around by this classy guy in his snazzy sports car.

Less than an hour later, she and Doug were sitting outside on iron-frame chairs at a round table set on a brick patio that looked out to the eighteen-hole golf course. Eight Roman Doric style columns held up a roof lined with round bulbs of track lighting. Fancy-schmancy, just as she thought. "You belong here?" she asked.

After handing her the small lunch menu, he said, "My family have been members here for, oh, fifty years or more. I guess you could say we're part of the old guard." He chuckled, looking at her as if she was supposed to be the type of person who knew what that meant. The old guard...With every passing minute, she was feeling more and more like an outsider, outclassed and way out of her element.

"Order anything you'd like," he said, perusing his menu. "The crab cakes are excellent. Delicious Ceasar salad also."

She settled on a burger ("chop steak" on the menu) with fries, while he got the crab cakes and a Ceasar salad, served by waiters in white jackets and black slacks.

"I guess you're not quite drinking age," he said. "Otherwise, I would have ordered wine."

"Next year," she said. "I'm only twenty. But maybe you can take me here for my twenty-first birthday." She grinned, hoping he'd go along with what she considered a joke.

He nodded, drawing a half-smile that she thought looked forced. But then he said, "Well, you never know. Meanwhile, we'll make do with iced tea." He raised his glass. "Cheers."

Small talk filled the next few minutes of conversation. Doug talked about his golf game and his past, the prep school he went to and some of his college experiences at the University of Maryland, including pulling college pranks that made her laugh. Amber knew she could hardly match his resume. Even so, she talked freely about what her dad did (steel worker), about an older brother who dropped out of high school and a younger sister who, like Amber, finished high school. Amber hadn't thought to talk about her boyfriend; she did so only after Doug asked. "Frank's a roofer," she revealed, "and he lives close by."

Then he said: "And you've been going together since you were seventeen you told me. Right?"

"Right. Good memory."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I get the feeling he wouldn't like it knowing you're out with another guy."

Amber paused, holding her fork with a ketchup-smothered fry on the end. "Maybe not. Not that it matters because I don't plan on telling him." She forked the fry into her mouth, while wondering why Doug should even care what Frank thought. After chewing, she said, "Doug, I really appreciate you bringing me here but don't quite understand why. I mean, we come from very different worlds. You're educated. Me, I've got a basic high school education that so far hasn't gotten me anywhere except working behind the counter of a dry cleaners. My family doesn't have your—what's the word—pedigree. Then there's this place. No one in my family could ever join a club like this, couldn't even get a foot in the door. Well, unless like me, they were a guest or they worked here."

Doug finished chewing a piece of crab. Then: "My intentions are completely honorable, if intentions are what you're questioning."

He was right on target, though she didn't want to admit it to him. "Look, like I said, I'm grateful you took me here. But I'd think you'd rather take someone on par with your social class, not a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. That's all I'm saying."

He nodded. "You're a very pretty girl, Amber, and I admire pretty girls, no matter where they're from. Also, you seem like a sweet kid. I asked about Frank because I hope we can see each other again."

Amber considered this while taking another bite of burger. Then, after wiping her mouth with the fine linen napkin, she said, "Doug, do you consider this a first date?"

"Only if you do. I'd like it to be."

Amber pictured him picking her up, pulling up to her modest house in that sports car. The looks she'd get almost made her laugh. Then there was Frank. He'd no doubt accuse her of cheating on him. However, she didn't necessarily see it that way. After all, they had no "pact" between them not to date others, and Doug wasn't the sort of guy she ran into every day. His REAL intentions? She still had her suspicions. Sheila, one of her girlfriends, got picked up by an "uptown" guy. He wined and dined her and bought her nice gifts. She was a virgin until she fell in love with him. Then, after a couple months, he dumped her. She later found out that she was just a "side girl," a chick to give him the extra nooky his main squeeze didn't. Would the same thing happen to her? Only one way to find out.

Doug," she said, dipping another fry into the ketchup on her plate, "I've enjoyed being with you today. You've made me laugh. You're obviously successful and don't appear conceited about it. You're also the best-looking guy I've ever been out with. "So yeah, I'd like to see you again, too."

During the drive home, Amber revealed that she was somewhat anxious about the way Doug might react when he saw where she lived, where the "other half" lived. "Don't worry," he assured her, "I've driven through there many times."

When he pulled into her street and parallel parked in front, engine running, she saw her mom sitting on the stoop, wearing an orange sleeveless blouse, blue capri pants and sandals. She couldn't help laughing at her mom's curious expression. "Look, I better introduce you," she said to him. "If that's okay."

"Sure," he said, then cut the engine and got out.

Sally, Amber's forty-something mom, prematurely gray and thin, with hands showing what years of working in a machine parts factory can do, shook Doug's hand after the introduction. "Doug's one of my customers," Amber said.

"That was nice of him to spare you a bus ride home," Sally said.

Doug and Amber traded smiles. Then Amber said, "He also took me for a ride in his cool Austin-Healy and then treated me to lunch at his club."

"His club?"

"The Bucolic Hills Country Club, Mrs. Mullin," Doug chimed in.

Sally's mouth hung open for a few moments. Then she said, "Oh my, that must have been quite a nice lunch." She shot Amber a look, as if to say, 'really?!'

"Well, I'll be headed out," Doug said. "Nice meeting you Mrs. Mullin. Amber, see you soon."

When Doug left, Sally said, "Looks like you're doing some social climbing, honey. Are you dating this man?"

Amber shrugged. "That's kind of up to him. Today, didn't really feel like a date. I mean, he just asked me out on the spur of the moment. And he didn't try to kiss me or anything. I did give him my cell number."

"You haven't been out with another guy since you and Frank got close."

"Yeah, I know. It felt strange, though I gotta say I had a good time." Amber could read Sally's look of skepticism. "Look, mom, I'm wondering the same thing, what he sees in a girl living here and working where I work. He thinks I'm pretty, says I'm a sweet kid. Beyond that, I have no idea, because I'm sure he can find pretty and sweet among his own kind."

Sally raised her eyebrows. "Well, I have an idea what he has in mind, and if it's what I think it is, I'd be careful if I were you."

Amber nodded. "Mom, I know what you're thinking because I have the same thoughts myself. We'll just see what happens."

*****

Like every Saturday night, Amber had a date with Frank. They were going to a drive-in, both to watch the show and do other things. Amber tried to picture how Frank would react if she told him about her country club date with a guy whose looks bore a resemblance to those British guys who played James Bond—tall, dark and handsome. Yes sir, along with the sort of social and intellectual sophistication not found where she hailed from. Frank didn't have Doug's suave, handsome kind of looks, but she found him cute. Blondish hair worn just above his earlobes. Gray-blue eyes. Muscular build maintained mostly through his work, not through a dedicated exercise regimen. Slightly taller than she but inches shorter than the six-foot Douglas Gibbens. Twenty-three years old, Frank never finished high school. To his credit, he did get a GED and even bought a high school ring, inscribed with the year he should have graduated. Also, to his credit, unlike many other neighborhood school dropouts, he stayed clear of drugs and the law, worked hard at what he did and had his girl, the beautiful Amber Mullin. One day, he hoped to marry her.

Amber once figured they would marry. After all, that's what people in love normally do, right? Except for the past few months, she had been rethinking things. Getting a glimpse into Doug's world only reinforced her feeling that marrying Frank might not be what she wanted. Frank was a good guy. He was loyal—he had never cheated on her as far as she knew. However, he didn't seem to have any ambition beyond roofing and doing small home improvement jobs on the side. She wanted more for herself also, couldn't see herself stuck behind a counter for the rest of her life. She thought of taking a few college courses. She once told Frank about furthering her education and got a negative response. The reason was obvious; he felt insecure.

All that aside, she still loved him, still enjoyed getting intimate with him, not always easy because she lived with her parents and he with his single mom. They often made do inside the cramped quarters of Frank's restored black Pontiac Trans Am. Frank was far from rich, but he made decent enough money and had saved enough to own this boss machine. "My dream car, along with my dream girl," he had said.

Tonight, his dream girl was in the backseat of his dream car, while some silly romantic comedy played on the big screen. Not that they were watching. They were doing what perhaps millions of lovers were doing in the dwindling number of "passion pits" across the land. Amber wore a short dress, what she usually wore when she and Frank went to a drive-in. It made it easier for them to make love, and it drove Frank wild, seeing her dress or skirt bunched up around her waist, her panties pushed aside, her blouse hanging open. Sometimes she didn't bother wearing panties or a bra. Frank had worn a condom until Amber got on the pill. She wanted kids but not in the way that so many girls she knew had kids, husbandless and on welfare.

Her thoughts now weren't on the future, but on what Frank was doing to her, kissing her one moment, licking her boobs the next, while she straddled his lap, bouncing on his cock, bouncing high enough to where her head almost touched the roof of the car. The usual was present—the moans and groans and the heavy breathing that created enough steam to fog the windows. She couldn't imagine another guy turning her on the way Frank did. Then again, Frank was her first and so far, only lover, the guy who took her virginity a year after they met. He had been patient and gentle, helping her through the awkwardness of sex for the first time, and then turning her into a girl who listed sex as one of her "favorite things," who sometimes wanted it more than he. She had no trouble climaxing, and tonight was no exception in that regard: "Ohmygod, Frank...yes, yes! Oh, baby, you're my man!"

"And you're my woman," he said after reaching his own climax. "I love you."

Snuggled in his arms, she said, "I love you too, baby. Maybe we can watch the movie now."

Frank brushed strands of hair out of her eyes, then kissed her. "Movie? What movie?"

They both laughed before climbing back in front. Then they cleared the windshield to watch what remained of that silly romantic comedy.

*****

That date with Doug faded from Amber's thoughts until he called her the following week to ask her out for Saturday. "Ever been to the symphony?" he asked.