There was a girl there from Luray, Virginia. I remember that, and a few other things, with clarity. She was elfin, wore a Springsteen T-shirt, and had a beautiful mountain accent that reminded me of Sissy Spacek in Badlands. She asked where I was from, and I told her; then I ran through the usual list of clarifiers to place Merritt Island on the map: “The NASA area. Cocoa Beach. Cape Canaveral.”

She brightened up. “I Dream of Jeannie!” Her hands locked together over her head and she gyrated her hips. Then she stopped abruptly, dropped her arms, and laughed in my face. When I didn’t laugh back, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Luray’s where the pottery comes from.”

I realized she was wired on something. I also realized, looking around the crowd, that she was the only female at the party except for a tall, auburn-haired woman who stood with her back to us across the room.

“Yep,” she said, reading my mind and glancing around, “all boys. All boys who like boys. I live next door, and that’s the only kind of party they ever have here. It’s a lose-lose situation, as far as I’m concerned.”

I looked at her and said impulsively, “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Mmm …” She sized me up. “No thanks.”

Fighting the crowd, I made my way over to the tall, auburn-haired woman. She turned around just as I got close.

“Hey!” Big Frank said. “I wondered if you were coming. You’re the only person here who hasn’t met Butter Rum.” The hair looked real, but he wore no makeup. He hadn’t even shaved. He smiled coyly, reached into his purse, and handed me a piece of candy.

“Thanks.”

“Hey, Butter!” said a red-faced boy, stepping out from behind Big Frank and drumming his hands on the hairy forearm that supported the purse strap. “Is Chip here?”

“Travis,” Big Frank said in a cordial voice, tilting his head back and staring down the bridge of his nose, “have you met Joe?”

“No.” Travis gave me an impatient glance. “Is Chip here?”

“Yes. Joe is Little Frank’s brother. He moved here in August.”

“That’s who I’m really looking for,” Travis said. “Little Frank. Where is he?”

Big Frank huffed, and pointed.

When Travis was gone, I said, “Don’t you get tired of doing that?”

He took a piece of candy from his purse, unwrapped it, and stuck it in his mouth. Around it, he said, “What, playing ‘Where’s Frankie?’ Somebody has to do it. He casts a pretty wide net, when it comes to people.”

“Yeah, I wonder why.”

Big Frank didn’t pick up on the sarcasm in my voice; he responded as if I’d asked him a question. “Because everyone likes him. And he’s nice, you know? He’d give you the back off his front, if you asked for it.”