anonymous789: No, no, no, see, I don't make mistakes; she misspoke ;)
White eyed fox: Eh, he took a summer course in 1959 and jumped ahead. That's also when Lincoln's parents found out he smokes.
Guest: I've been thinking of a genderbent story. At some point, and at some point I'll do the sequel to Be Mine Forever since everyone keeps asking for it.
Guest: You'll see Clyde in this story arch.
Lyrics to The Twist by Chubby Checker (1960)
On the afternoon of October 22, 1962, Lincoln Loud stood by a stop sign outside Royal Woods High, his hands shoved into the pockets of his blue cardigan and a cigarette jutting from his mouth. It was a damp, drizzly day, and the trees along the street were a bloodless mix of red and yellow. His smoke was starting to get wet, and he cupped it with one hand.
When he saw Ronnie Anne coming down the front stairs, he waved, and she waved back. She wore white pants and a light gray sweater; her hair was back in a ponytail, as it usually was, held in place with a purple ribbon. She held her books in one hand while rummaging in her pocket with the other. She took out a cigarette and paused to light it. "Come on," she said, "we're gonna be late."
Lincoln lifted a brow. "Since when do you care about being late?" he asked as he fell in beside her and they started walking toward Flip's. Ronnie Anne was notorious for being late, and since they walked together most days, so was he.
"Since Flip threatened to start docking my pay," she said, and took a puff, the cherry of her Camel brightening.
Lincoln finished his own cigarette and flung it into the street, where it landed in a puddle and started floating around like a nicotine infused boat. "Do you think he would actually do that?"
Ronnie Anne shrugged. "I don't know, but I'm not too hot to find out."
"You're just hot," Lincoln grinned and patted her butt.
She cocked her brow. "You're awfully fresh lately."
Lincoln shrugged. What could he say? He was a normal, healthy sixteen-year-old boy with a beautiful girlfriend. It was kind of hard not to be fresh under those circumstances, and it was kind of hard not to think dirty thoughts. Okay, it was really hard not to think dirty thoughts. On the one hand, it made him feel a little guilty because he loved her, and thinking about...being with her...struck him as being beneath his emotions. His love for Ronnie Anne was deep, pure, and spiritual. On the other hand...she really turned him on, and isn't the girl you're in love with supposed to do that?
She leaned into him, knocking him off balance. "I kinda like it," she grinned.
He snaked his arm around her waist and drew her into a kiss; he prodded his tongue against her lips, and she opened them, meeting his tongue with her own and massaging it tenderly. "I really like that, though," she said, and pecked his lips.
"So do I," Lincoln replied. "Sometimes I really hate coming up for air."
"You'd hate turning blue and passing out even more," she shot back. She tossed her cigarette and held her books to her chest. They were walking quicker now as the rain picked up, her ponytail swinging back and forth like a whip.
"Maybe...or maybe I'd like it."
She giggled. "You're a dork."
They were on Main Street now. Cars moved back and forth, their tires kicking up curtains of rain water. A city bus came to a stop in front of a bench where a man in a white suit was waiting with a box of chocolates in his lap, and a police car put on its lights and picked up speed as it raced to a call. They crossed, hurrying as the bus took off, and then turned left. Flip's was ahead, the neon sign softly glowing in the afternoon murk. Lincoln put his arm around Ronnie Anne's waist again and kissed her cheek. She smiled and made a satisfied ummm noise. Her smell filled his nostrils, and his fingers were mere inches from the crease between her thigh and groin. He felt himself starting to stir, but called up an image of naked fat men dancing in the snow, their nipples hard and their tiny members shriveled with cold, and any danger of him getting an erection vanished. It was a method he had used many times over the years – sometimes when Ronnie Anne was touching him and he felt himself getting close to his end. Deep down he was afraid that he would do it one day and find that those fat dudes weren't that bad looking.
They crossed the rain-slicked parking lot and went in through the front door. Flip was counting the money in the register, his reading glasses sliding down his nose. He wore those things more often than he didn't now: He had just turned fifty-nine and his eyesight was getting bad. He looked up and smiled when they came in. "My two best employees!"
Uh-oh.
Lincoln and Ronnie Anne exchanged a knowing glance. "What do you want, Flip?" she asked.
Flip shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just happy to see you two is all."
Ronnie Anne put her hands on her hips and fixed him with the type of gaze Lincoln had only seen when he lied to his mother.
"Well," Flip said, "I was hoping you two would deep clean this garbage heap today. It's cold and raining, we're going to be slower than frozen molasses."
Ronnie Anne threw her head back. She did not like deep cleaning. On the bright side, Flip usually paid her extra, since scrubbing grout and wiping under the tables cut into her ability to make tips. "Okay," she said, drawing it out.
"Whatever," Lincoln said. He didn't mind deep cleaning. See, when Flip had them deep clean, Ronnie Anne was in charge of the front and he was in charge of the kitchen...the kitchen that he kept almost spotless anyway. The only problem was Ernie's side. Lincoln loved the guy, but he was a slob with a capital 'S'.
In the kitchen, Ernie was cleaning the grill, a puke green tabletop radio on the counter and playing Ray Charles. Lincoln and Ernie chipped in and bought it over the summer so they could have something to listen to while they worked. Ronnie Anne grabbed her uniform from a cubby by the back door, and kissed Lincoln on the cheek. "If you get time, you better come help me."
Lincoln kissed her back. "I might."
When she was gone, he shrugged out of his cardigan and hung it up, following it with his shirt: It was red and green plaid with a butterfly collar. Brand new, too; he bought it just the other day.
In his undershirt, he went over to the sink and felt around, finding a few plates inside. He hurriedly washed them and carried them out to the dining room. Ronnie Anne came out of the bathroom. Her uniform dress was pale pink and button-up. A name tag was perched over her heart. Lincoln couldn't help but notice how tight it was getting around her breasts, butt, and hips. She caught him looking at her and winked. He winked back.
Flip wasn't entirely wrong. It was a slow day, though the dinner rush was bigger than Lincoln himself expected. He was just finishing up the last of the dishes and nodding to Booker T and the M.G.'s when Ronnie Anne poked her head through the door. "You have a visitor, lame-o."
Visitor?
He went out to see who it was, and found Clyde leaning against the counter. Lincoln grinned. "Hey, man."
Clyde grinned back. "Hey, buddy, how's it going?"
"Alright," Lincoln said, putting his hands on the edge of the counter. "You?"
"Okay," Clyde nodded. "I just wanted to see how you're doing. You know...after the other day."
On Saturday afternoon, he and Clyde were riding bikes near the quarry outside town when Lincoln hit a rock and flipped over the handlebars, landing hard on his back. His bike was totaled, which stung. He'd had that Schwinn since he was twelve. "I'm alright," he said now. "My tailbone's still kind of sore."
"Yeah, you really went down."
"It happens. You want something to –?"
Flip appeared next to Lincoln's elbow and crossed his arms. "You trying to steal my job, Loud?"
"If I was trying to steal your job, I'd say a bunch of mean things to Clyde, give him his food, and tell him to leave."
"You're right," Flip said, "what was I thinking? You don't have the stones to take my job. Get back in the kitchen. McBride – what the hell do you want?"
Lincoln shook his head and went back into the kitchen.
Luan sat impatiently on the couch, her legs crossed and her chin in her hands. Next to her, Leni was knitting a sweater for Bobby Jr. and next to her Mom was huddled under an afghan. Dad was sitting in his armchair with a rare can of beer between his legs. Lincoln was at work, Luna was with Daggy, Lynn was in Arizona, and Lori and Bobby had moved into an apartment at the beginning of March.
"I wonder what it's going to be about," Mom said.
Dad took a drink of his beer. "Who the hell knows? Probably about the Russians in Cuba."
It was 6:57pm, and at 7:00, President Kennedy was giving a speech to the nation. It must be something important, Luan thought; the president doesn't just pop up on television for no reason. Dad was probably right: Since the Bay of Pigs Invasion, the Russians had been helping Cuba shore up its defenses. Luan couldn't say she blamed them: The U.S. had no right to invade Cuba, and if she was in the Russians' place, she'd do the same.
Whatever it was about, she was happy to see JFK because she liked him, even if he signed off on the Bay of Pigs thing and mishandled the Freedom Rides last year – he actually condemned them. Can you believe that? She was very disappointed in him.
But, hey, everyone makes mistakes. She was beginning to think that she had made a mistake in her career path: She had been taking classes in early education at Royal Woods Community College since spring, and while she didn't know what she wanted to do, it wasn't teaching. She supposed she could settle for teaching, but she didn't feel fulfilled.
She was meant for something else.
It bothered her that she didn't know what she wanted. She was almost twenty-years-old, which is mighty old to still be aimless and adrift. Luna knew what she wanted to do, and had for years. She, on the other hand, had no idea. Maybe she would never know. Maybe she would drop out of school and live at home for the rest of her life and turn into a lonely old spinster with no job, no love, and a bunch of cats.
She shivered.
On TV, an announcer appeared. "We now go live to a special address from the President."
The scene cut to one of Kennedy – there he is! Handsome as always – sitting at his desk in the Oval Office. He wore a tense, somber expression. He spoke slowly, and as he did so, he repeatedly glanced down at a sheaf of papers before him:
"Good evening, my fellow citizens. This government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military buildup on the island of Cuba. Within the past week, unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere."
Dad leaned forward and Luan's brow furrowed.
"Upon receiving the first preliminary hard information of this nature last Tuesday morning at 9 A.M., I directed that our surveillance be stepped up. And having now confirmed and completed our evaluation of the evidence and our decision on a course of action, this Government feels obliged to report this new crisis to you in fullest detail."
Luan's heart burst. Crisis? She didn't know much about Cuba or missiles, but if the president was calling something a crisis, it had to be bad.
"The characteristics of these new missile sites indicate two distinct types of installations. Several of them include medium range ballistic missiles, capable of carrying a nuclear warhead for a distance of more than 1,000 nautical miles. Each of these missiles, in short, is capable of striking Washington, D. C., the Panama Canal, Cape Canaveral, Mexico City, or any other city in the southeastern part of the United States, in Central America, or in the Caribbean area."
At Flip's, Lincoln stuck his head out the kitchen door. Flip was counting the till and Ronnie Anne was on her knees wiping the baseboard. "Hey, come listen to this," he said.
"What is it, Loud?" Flip asked over his shoulder.
"Kennedy – he's on the radio."
Ronnie Anne looked up, one brow arching. "Why?"
"Just come listen."
They gathered around the radio. Ernie stood with his arms crossed and his head tilted forward in contemplation.
Kennedy's voice issued forth through static.
"Additional sites not yet completed appear to be designed for intermediate range ballistic missiles - capable of traveling more than twice as far - and thus capable of striking most of the major cities in the Western Hemisphere, ranging as far north as Hudson Bay, Canada, and as far south as Lima, Peru. In addition, jet bombers, capable of carrying nuclear weapons, are now being uncrated and assembled in Cuba, while the necessary air bases are being prepared."
"Sounds like those sons of bitches are getting ready for an invasion," Ernie said, and Lincoln's heart clutched. Invasion? He glanced at Ronnie Anne, whose face was drawn with worry.
"This urgent transformation of Cuba into an important strategic base - by the presence of these large, long-range, and clearly offensive weapons of sudden mass destruction - constitutes an explicit threat to the peace and security of all the Americas, in flagrant and deliberate defiance of the Rio Pact of 1947, the traditions of this nation and hemisphere, the joint resolution of the 87th Congress, the Charter of the United Nations, and my own public warnings to the Soviets on September 4 and 13. This action also contradicts the repeated assurances of Soviet spokesmen, both publicly and privately delivered, that the arms buildup in Cuba would retain its original defensive character, and that the Soviet Union had no need or desire to station strategic missiles on the territory of any other nation."
Kennedy stammered here and there, and Lincoln imagined he could hear anxiety in the president's voice. Flip crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
"The size of this undertaking makes clear that it has been planned for some months. Yet, only last month, after I had made clear the distinction between any introduction of ground-to-ground missiles and the existence of defensive antiaircraft missiles, the Soviet Government publicly stated on September 11 that, and I quote, "the armaments and military equipment sent to Cuba are designed exclusively for defensive purposes," that there is, and I quote the Soviet Government, "there is no need for the Soviet Government to shift its weapons for a retaliatory blow to any other country, for instance Cuba," and that, and I quote their government, "the Soviet Union has so powerful rockets to carry these nuclear warheads that there is no need to search for sites for them beyond the boundaries of the Soviet Union." That statement was false."
Across town, Lori held Bobby Jr. to her chest and watched as Kennedy set aside a sheet of paper; fear was beginning to stir in her heart. Next to her, Bobby sat forward. He looked worried too.
"Neither the United States of America nor the world community of nations can tolerate deliberate deception and offensive threats on the part of any nation, large or small. We no longer live in a world where only the actual firing of weapons represents a sufficient challenge to a nation's security to constitute maximum peril. Nuclear weapons are so destructive and ballistic missiles are so swift, that any substantially increased possibility of their use or any sudden change in their deployment may well be regarded as a definite threat to peace."
"Are we going to war?" Lori asked suddenly, clutching her son tighter. Bobby shushed her.
"In that sense, missiles in Cuba add to an already clear and present danger - although it should be noted the nations of Latin America have never previously been subjected to a potential nuclear threat. But this secret, swift, extraordinary buildup of Communist missiles - in an area well known to have a special and historical relationship to the United States and the nations of the Western Hemisphere, in violation of Soviet assurances, and in defiance of American and hemispheric policy - this sudden, clandestine decision to station strategic weapons for the first time outside of Soviet soil - is a deliberately provocative and unjustified change in the status quo which cannot be accepted by this country, if our courage and our commitments are ever to be trusted again by either friend or foe."
Bobby Jr. began to fuss, but Lori couldn't have moved to make him a bottle if she wanted to.
"Our policy has been one of patience and restraint, as befits a peaceful and powerful nation which leads a worldwide alliance. We have been determined not to be diverted from our central concerns by mere irritants and fanatics. But now further action is required, and it is under way; and these actions may only be the beginning. We will not prematurely or unnecessarily risk the costs of worldwide nuclear war in which even the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouth; but neither will we shrink from that risk at any time it must be faced."
Ronnie Anne's hand fluttered to her face, and Lincoln's stomach turned. They glanced at each other, and he moved to put his arm around her waist.
In Arizona, Lynn Loud walked into the dorm's dayroom and found the other guys. When he came out of his room, the place was deserted, with doors standing open, the hall standing empty. What, is there a fire drill? When he walked into the common area, he blinked: A dozen people crowded around the TV, where the president was talking. "What's going on?" he asked, casually tossing his football into the air and catching it.
"Something about war with the Russians," someone said.
Lynn sputtered. "What?"
"Shut up, Loud."
Lynn leaned against the back of the couch and watched, terror nesting in his stomach.
"Acting, therefore, in the defense of our own security and of the entire Western Hemisphere, and under the authority entrusted to me by the Constitution as endorsed by the Resolution of the Congress, I have directed that the following initial steps be taken immediately:
First. To halt this offensive buildup a strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated. All ships of any kind bound for Cuba from whatever nation or port will, if found to contain cargoes of offensive weapons, be turned back. This quarantine will be extended, if needed, to other types of cargo and carriers. We are not at this time, however, denying the necessities of life as the Soviets attempted to do in their Berlin blockade of 1948.
Second: I have directed the continued and increased close surveillance of Cuba and its military buildup. The foreign ministers of the OAS, in their communiqué' of October 6, rejected secrecy on such matters in this hemisphere. Should these offensive military preparations continue, thus increasing the threat to the hemisphere, further action will be justified. I have directed the Armed Forces to prepare for any eventualities; and I trust that in the interest of both the Cuban people and the Soviet technicians at the sites, the hazards to all concerned of continuing this threat will be recognized."
Luan, Lynn, and Rita were all leaning so far forward that they were in danger of tipping. Leni continued with her knitting, humming The Lion Sleeps Tonight and bobbing her head from side-to-side, completely unware that the apocalypse was moments away from engulfing her.
"Third: It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile launched from Cuba against any nation in the Western Hemisphere as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.
Fourth: As a necessary military precaution, I have reinforced our base at Guantanamo, evacuated today the dependents of our personnel there, and ordered additional military units to be on a standby alert basis."
Luan made a frightened noise in the back of her throat.
"Fifth: We are calling tonight for an immediate meeting of the Organ[ization] of Consultation under the Organization of American States, to consider this threat to hemispheric security and to invoke articles 6 and 8 of the Rio Treaty in support of all necessary action. The United Nations Charter allows for regional security arrangements, and the nations of this hemisphere decided long ago against the military presence of outside powers. Our other allies around the world have also been alerted.
Sixth: Under the Charter of the United Nations, we are asking tonight that an emergency meeting of the Security Council be convoked without delay to take action against this latest Soviet threat to world peace. Our resolution will call for the prompt dismantling and withdrawal of all offensive weapons in Cuba, under the supervision of U.N. observers, before the quarantine can be lifted."
Ronnie Anne trembled, and Lincoln held her tighter. His stomach was a pit of roiling nerves and his heart throbbed. This sounded bad, and he was no stranger to the threat of war with the Soviets: They had been a menace his entire life.
"Seventh and finally: I call upon Chairman Khrushchev to halt and eliminate this clandestine, reckless, and provocative threat to world peace and to stable relations between our two nations. I call upon him further to abandon this course of world domination, and to join in an historic effort to end the perilous arms race and to transform the history of man. He has an opportunity now to move the world back from the abyss of destruction by returning to his government's own words that it had no need to station missiles outside its own territory, and withdrawing these weapons from Cuba by refraining from any action which will widen or deepen the present crisis, and then by participating in a search for peaceful and permanent solutions."
Lori held Bobby Jr. closer. He thrashed against her, but she couldn't let him go – wouldn't let him go.
"My fellow citizens, let no one doubt that this is a difficult and dangerous effort on which we have set out. No one can foresee precisely what course it will take or what costs or casualties will be incurred. Many months of sacrifice and self-discipline lie ahead - months in which both our patience and our will will be tested, months in which many threats and denunciations will keep us aware of our dangers. But the greatest danger of all would be to do nothing.
The path we have chosen for the present is full of hazards, as all paths are; but it is the one most consistent with our character and courage as a nation and our commitments around the world. The cost of freedom is always high, but Americans have always paid it. And one path we shall never choose, and that is the path of surrender or submission."
Path of blood, Luan thought, and shuddered as images of bomb-blasted cities and fiery skies danced sickeningly through her head. This couldn't be happening. It had to be a nightmare.
"Our goal is not the victory of might, but the vindication of right; not peace at the expense of freedom, but both peace and freedom, here in this hemisphere, and, we hope, around the world. God willing, that goal will be achieved."
How? Lincoln thought as he unconsciously held Ronnie Anne tighter. How will it be achieved?
"Thank you and good night."
For a moment dark, oppressive silence, so deep it made Lincoln's ears ring, held sway over the kitchen. When Flip spoke, Lincoln jumped. "Alright, back to work."
There was no force in his voice.
"We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming."
To Tell the Truth filled the screen, the laughter of the audience at something Bud Collyer said making the atmosphere somehow darker. "They're not taking those missiles out," Dad said, sitting back in his chair. "Not after the Bay of Pigs. If you ask me, it sounds like they're going to invade."
Luan's stomach turned. "Would they really do that?"
"You heard him, they're out to take over the world. Cuba's ninety miles from Florida. Normandy is farther from England, and look at D-Day. They're gonna use those missiles to clear the way then send in ground troops. That's what I'd do."
Rita shivered. "If they did that we'd launch our missiles. They have to know that."
Dad blew a raspberry. "They don't care. They want to rule the world; doesn't matter to them if it's a radioactive heap or not."
"Would we get hit?" Luan asked. She could feel panic welling within her; the back of her neck was beginning to tingle as though at any minute a Soviet missile would crash through the roof and land on her.
"Probably not," Dad said. "There's nothing important around us, just National Guard facilities. They won't worry about those – not at first. Miami, Washington, and New York are where they're going to strike."
Suddenly, Leni looked at her mother. "Does this look okay, Mom?" she asked, holding the sweater up: On the front was a crocheted version on Leni's face. Underneath was: I LOVE AUNTIE LENI in white.
"That's fine, dear," she said, and looked at her husband. "If there's a war, we'll have fallout, won't we? God knows they put atomic bombs on everything these days. You can't just shoot a plane down or blow something up – you have to nuke it. There will be so much of that stuff in the air it'll kill everything."
Cold terror filled Luan's chest.
Dad held up his hand. "We'll be fine. Fallout is easy enough to deal with." He pushed himself up. "Where's that civil defense handbook?"
"I don't know. It should be on the bookshelf."
He crossed to the bookshelf and started to scan the spines. Mom put her hand on Luan's leg. "Don't worry, honey, we'll be fine. I-I'm sure President Kennedy will get us through this without starting a war."
She didn't sound very convincing. She was right about everything having an atomic bomb on it: Every artillery shell fired, every bomb dropped, every damned bullet would be nuclear.
"Here it is," Dad said and took a slim hardback from the bookshelf. Luan caught a flash of the cover as he sat, and it sent a tingle down her spine: Survival Under Atomic Attack. It featured a drawing of a mushroom cloud rising above a city skyline, fire and bits of debris at its base.
He opened it and flipped through the pages. "Listen to this: 'In most atom raids, blast and heat are by far the greatest dangers that people must face. Radioactivity alone would account for only a small percentage of all human deaths and injuries, except in underground or underwater explosions.' The fallout wouldn't bother us too much. We can always insulate the basement. I know there's a section in here somewhere." He flipped around.
"Bobby Jr. is going to look so adorable in this," Leni said, looking at the sweater in her lap.
"Ah, here. 'Heavy, dense materials (like thick walls, earth, concrete, bricks, water and books) between you and fallout is best. Stay indoors or below ground. (Taking shelter in a basement or a facility below ground reduces exposure by 90%. Less than 4 inches of soil or earth can reduce the penetration of dangerous gamma rays by half). Some very basic ways to build an expedient last-minute shelter in your home, apartment or workplace to help protect you from dangerous radiation include…" Dad stopped speaking and read silently.
"Include what?" Luan asked worriedly.
He made a hmmm sound. "Looks like we can have a functional bomb shelter in five minutes," he said. He closed the book, and Luan shot her hand out. He gave it to her and got up. "I'll make one now."
Luan opened the book and leafed through it until she found the section he had been reading. Above a diagram:
Set up a large, sturdy workbench or table in location you've chosen. If no table, make one by putting doors on top of boxes, appliances or furniture.
Put as much shielding (e.g. furniture, file cabinets, appliances, boxes or pillowcases filled with dirt or sand, boxes of food, water or books, concrete blocks, bricks, etc.) all around sides and on top of table, but don't put too much weight on tabletop or it could collapse. Add reinforcing supports, if needed.
Leave a crawl space so everyone can get inside and block opening with shielding materials.
Leave 2 small air spaces for ventilation (about 4-6″ each) – one low at one end and one high at other end. (This allows for better airflow since warm air rises.)
Have water, radiation detection devices, KI, battery operated radio, food and sanitation supplies in case you have to shelter in place for days or weeks.
When she looked up, Dad was taking all the books off the shelf. "I'll help," Luan said. She sat the book aside and got up.
"Fill some pillowcases with dirt," Dad directed. "Three or four for right now. When you're done, bring them into the basement. After that...uh...get Lynn's mattress and bring that too. Oh, and the couch cushions."
Luan nodded determinedly and went upstairs.
"I-I better go to the store," Rita said and got up. "W-What do we need?"
"Canned food, water, batteries, toilet paper." Lynn stopped and thought for a moment. "First aid supplies."
Leni looked around, her brow furrowing. "Why's everyone acting so weird?"
"Don't worry, dear. Get your coat, we're going shopping."
Ten minutes later, Leni was strapped into the passenger seat of the Packard. It was dark and rainy and cold, but she liked going shopping with her mother, so she didn't mind. Mom sat behind the wheel, wearing a long, heavy green coat. In the green glow of the dash panel, her face was creepy. "Is everything really okay?" Leni asked. She sensed her mother's tension, and it was starting to make her nervous.
Mom nodded. "Everything's fine."
Leni's brow pinched. If Mom said everything was okay, it must be. She leaned forward, turned on the radio, and spun the dial until she found a station playing music:
My daddy is sleepin'
And mama ain't around
Yeah, daddy just sleepin'
And mama ain't around
We're gonna twisty twisty twisty
Till we tear the house down.
Rita half expected the music to be replaced by an emergency tone as the Russians responded to Kennedy's words with actions. It didn't, however, and by the time they reached the supermarket, she was beginning to believe that they had at least the night before World War III broke out.
Inside, she grabbed a cart and hurried through the store, Leni hurrying to keep pace beside her. There were more people here than was usual at this hour. Turning into the canned food aisle, she almost bumped into someone. She started to apologize.
"Rita? Oh, hi!" Shirley Breckenridge said. Rita knew Shirley from the hairdresser's.
"Hi," Rita said.
Shirley was a tall, thin woman who wore her red hair in a raised bouffant. She was clad in a matching plaid jacket and skirt. Her husband, Frank, owned the hardware store. Her eyes were hazel and clear, but presently darkened. "Did you see Kennedy on TV?"
Rita nodded. "That's why we're here. Isn't it awful?"
"It's terrifying," Shirley said gravely. "Frank's putting together some kind of makeshift bomb shelter in the basement as we speak."
"Lynn's doing the same. He doesn't think we'll be hit directly."
"Neither does Frank, but I'm not so sure. If the Russians launch all their bombs, some are bound to go astray. Plus, we're so close to Detroit."
Rita nodded. That same thought had occurred to her.
When she and Shirley parted, Leni looked confused. "Why are the Russians launching bombs?"
"They're not," Rita said, and added to herself yet.