Description: Happiness bursts through the double-door entrance of Devon's teen-hangout in the form of Eve Jones, armed with permission from her family to join the beauty pageant. The only thing that could make it complete would be to share it with her friends.
The Miss Teenager Pageant. PART 9.
In 1961, the pharmacy in Devon was a hopping place. Patrons spun on stools at the soda bar. For the cost of a quarter, the jukebox would play Chubby Checker who encouraged people to get up and twist their way to happiness. Teen friends hung out and laughed over a glass of Hires Root Beer or an Orange Crush, and if you broke the glass, it would cost you more than the drink.
When Eve charged through the double-door entrance, the song on the jukebox was appropriately Elvis: “It’s Now or Never.”
She spotted Shorty and Deirdre hanging loose at a center table, sipping Cokes.
“From here,” said Deirdre, “I would surmise that Eve Jones just got the stamp of approval from the family. You concur, Mr. Hale?”
Shorty turned his head to watch Eve make an entrance. “That’s not exactly a look of pain on the future ‘Miss Teenager’s’ face,” he replied with a grin.
Eve rushed over to their table. Standing before them, she spread out her arms like a fountain of joy bursting forth from her heart. Finally, she could hold it in no longer.
“I’ve got the most wonderful, most understandingest sister and father in the world!” Eve announced with her arms wide and her head thrown back. She was oblivious to the fact that her voice was carrying to anyone within a twelve mile radius of the pharmacy, but no one particularly paid much attention to noisy teens in this joint, anyway. It was just part of the scene.
“I admit they gave me a case of the shakes before they decided, though,” Eve said in a rapid burst of excitement. Today felt like her victory proclamation.
Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Eve, a pair of well-dressed gentlemen were at that very moment stepping off the train at Devon Station. As they squinted in the sunshine, the warm humid breeze of summer invaded their otherwise pleasant demeanor.
“Who’s here?” the younger, handsome man in a perfectly tailored suit and tie asked.
“Eve Jones,” replied the older man with a lit cigarette hanging loosely off his lip. “I’ll whistle us up a car.”
And just like that, the dream that Eve had once hidden in her heart was about to begin.
