A sandy-haired kid with no idea of how good-looking he was bound to become, Billy was one in a million. The real McCoy. Having herded cattle with his pa back in West Texas, he had come to L.A. at the age of fifteen with a small-time rodeo and then stumbled into pictures when demand was on the rise for men who could fall off of horses. He was just getting his start, you understand (as he was the first to tell you), but he had already charged with the cavalry across a river, over a hill, and through a canyon on the way to the Alamo and the Battle of Bull Run.

An old-timer named Skilly Skillman had apparently taken Billy under his wing. He’s the one who had advised Billy that he needed a niche. Something that would set him apart and get him front and center—right in the crosshairs of the camera. Skillman’s route to the close-up had been through the saloon window. Sure, he could tumble down the stairs or get clocked on the noggin with the rest of them. But when it came to being thrown through a window, no one was his equal. He was the undisputed king of defenestrations.

Eve could hardly wait to hear what Billy’s route was going to be . . .

—For me, he explained, it’s gonna be the heel-hooker.

—The heel-hooker?

Billy nodded with enthusiasm as he veered around a cab.

—That’s when you’re ridin’ at full gallop . . . And you get an arrow in the chest, see . . . And instead of fallin’ clear of your horse, the heel of your boot gets hooked in the stirrup . . .

Billy passed his right hand slowly in front of the windshield, as if he could see his body being dragged through the dust toward the setting sun.

Heck. Eve could practically see it too.

—You can’t beat a man who’s found his niche, Eve admitted with a smile.

—No ma’am, said Billy. I suspect you can’t.

Then he gave the rearview mirror a few more glances like he’d just had a notion.

—You know what, Miss Ross? Why don’t you come down to the Corral? Then you can see it for yourself!

Now it was Eve who was sitting up.

—That’s a hell of an idea, Billy. Why don’t you hand me the book.

Billy leaned to his right, took the pad from the glove compartment, and passed it into the back.

Eve turned to the fourth page—the one which was titled SIGHTS TO SEE BEFORE I LEAVE L.A. Surveying the list from top to bottom and the little green checks that marked her progress, Eve felt a great sense of satisfaction—which, come to think of it, was pretty hilarious when you considered the aversions of her youth.