A/N: Oh, gosh, guys! I'm so sorry that there was such a HUGE GAP between updates! A lot of stuff has been going on in my life, but here I am, with a super long chapter just for you! Please review after reading, and enjoy!

"There were no neutrals in the war in heaven. All took sides either with Christ or with Satan. Every man had his agency there, and men receive rewards here based upon their actions there, just as they will receive rewards hereafter for deeds done in the body. The Negro, evidently, is receiving the reward he merits."

– Joseph Fielding Smith, Doctrines of Salvation, 1954-56

1962

Arnold has a record player, and rarely is it ever out of use. It sits in the corner of his living room, a handsome addition to the sparse furnishings—he hasn't had much opportunity to purchase many more, considering he spent most of his money on the stereo system itself. Still, though, his funds are such that he can still afford to buy a few records here and there, because he has a new goal.

"Nadine! Nadine, uh, hi…" Twirling the cord of his telephone around a thick finger, he laughs that indescribable laugh and looks about. He's cleaned, he's ironed his shirt, he's tamed his hair—she is going to come over for the first time, and they're going to be alone. "Uh, are you…busy today, 'cos, uh, I don't have to work! Hah, isn't that swell?" He bites his lip, eyes tracing back over to the record player. "Yeah…yeah, just you and me, um, if that's…what you wanted! Yeah? Okay! Yeah, hah, I'll…see you then!"

A pause.

"I love you! Okaybye."

Even if they can't go out dancing with other couples, they can have fun all the same at home.

—

When the doorbell goes off with its usual bzzt, Arnold rushes straight for the door. His hair is as slicked back as it will ever be, curls fighting valiantly against the massive amounts of pomade he's used, and his shirt is clean and free of stains, even after dealing with a far-too-bubbly pot of spaghetti sauce that he ended up burning anyway, so he feels he's ready to face his paramour. With a broad grin, he swings open the door: "Nadine, it's so great…to…"

He only falters when he comes face to face with Kevin Price, his best friend and, now that he thinks about it, original dinner date for the night.

"Uh."

Kevin seems only slightly fazed as he glances about the apartment, taking note of the crooning coming from the record player in the corner, and the scent of burnt food. His nose wrinkles. "Arnold, I don't think I said I wanted to have dinner in with you tonight, did I?" He manages to chuckle, though a brow is raised in confusion. Apparently, he's forgotten all about their few (very, very few, now that Arnold thinks about it) talks about the lady in his best friend's life, which makes it hard for Arnold to formulate a response.

"Eh-heh, no, uh, I kind of…forgot! About our…arrangements?" He gulps, tugging uncomfortably at the tight collar of his shirt. "Dinner. Thing. I'm—someone else is coming over!"

Brows are furrowed in response. "Someone else? From—work, or…Arnold, you didn't tell me you had another friend!" Arnold only just picks up the hint of jealousy in Kevin's strained reply, and isn't sure if he should feel glad for it, or even more traitorous.

"No, uh, not from work!"

"From…well, gosh, what else do you even do?"

He laughs, and it's strained enough that Kevin looks even more concerned than before. "Not much! But, uh, it's not a co-worker, o-or a, um…friend. I-It's kind of a—"

Blink, blink. Oh. The lights go on in Kevin's head, and the man still standing in the entrance to the apartment winces as a few steps are taken towards the truth. "You have a date."

"I—have a girlfriend, uh, remember? I've told you before…?"

He's not listening, pushing past the boy to glance around and make sure everything is in tip-top shape for a lady to come visit. "Now, while I don't know that I approve of you going around with girls in private, as long as you aren't…being unchaste, I can't say that I'm not happy for you, Arnold!" Kevin pauses as he realizes he's just used a double negative and sees Arnold struggling with decoding it out of the corner of his eye. "What I mean to say is…it's about time! You're how old, Arnold?"

"I'm twenty-two," he announces, a little awkwardly. His tie isn't straight, his tie isn't tied right, and he has to fix it before Nadine gets there or, even worse, Kevin notices. "Twenty-two isn't a bad age! Lots of people aren't married at twenty-two!"

"Lots of people actually went on their mission. You don't have much of an excuse, buddy." He sniffs, chin held up. Arnold privately recalls how Kevin was sent to Dildo, Newfoundland, in Canada, and how he doesn't like to talk about it for fear of letting everyone else know how badly their mission had gone. No one, he always tells Arnold, needs to know anybody's business but their own, though he sure doesn't seem to mind hypocritically sticking his nose in the business of his best friend. Dusting off the front of his own shirt, Kevin marches over to the record player and promptly switches it off. "You really need to listen to some more righteous music, Arnold. Rock and roll and jazz and swing are all just…ugh."

"I like it."

"You are wrong, then!" With a haughty snort, he shakes his head and presses a condescending pat to the other young man's shoulder. "So. What's she like? Good Mormon girl, I suppose—"

"Uh." Gulp. Arnold shifts away, straight for the record player. "You know, m-maybe you're right about jazz and rock and roll and stuff like that, I think I might have something better in here somewhere!" He shuffles between the same five records over and over again, just to look busy. He can't let it slip, he won't let it slip, because he's Arnold Cunningham, and he'd be darned if he wasn't the best liar that Salt Lake had ever known.

"Arnold." Matronly and stern, Kevin moves to stand behind him. "Tell me about this girl."

He supposes he must, because he knows that Kevin will only make him feel more and more like a child the more he refuses. "She's…a really nice girl, Kevin, and she's sweet and kind—"

He narrows his eyes at him, and his foot taps a menacing beat against the linoleum of the kitchen floor. He's suspicious of everything now, sniffing at the spaghetti sauce and wrinkling his brow. He knows something is up, and he definitely knows when his best friend is lying. Why did he think he'd be able to sneak one past Kevin Price? No one could. He was too good at sniffing out falsehoods to ever possibly fool.

"Does she go to our meetinghouse?"

He gulps. "Uh, no."

"Our tabernacle?"

"Heh, um, no, sh-she—"

Kevin's brows are furrowing more and more, his cheeks reddening in what might be anger and might also be embarrassment, but is most likely disappointment. "Has she ever set foot in a temple?"

"Sh-She's not, uh, I mean, it's—sh-she's, uh—" Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it—

With a loud sigh, Kevin moves to the dinner table, flopping into a chair with a resigned look on his face. Once again, Arnold Cunningham is proving himself to be the world's most disappointing friend. "She's not Mormon, is she?"

Well, that wasn't what he had been afraid of saying, but he knew that in Kevin's eyes, it would probably have been just as bad.

—

"A Baptist?"

Alright, Arnold could handle this. They were just having a nice, friendly discussion about his (formerly) secret girlfriend that was sort of turning sour, but everything would soon be working in his favour, so long as he could get Kevin out of the house as soon as possible. As shocked as he was by her religious affiliation, he's going to be far more upset if he finds out that she's not the pure snowy creature he imagines.

"Uh." He frets. Hesitates. Wrings his hands. "Y…es. She's a Baptist. Uh. But—I'm proselytizing to her! I go to visit her – a-and her father is there when I do, so we're not alone – and we talk, Kevin, we talk! About Mormon stories, a-and the Book…"

Puffing up like a particularly wiry rooster, Kevin didn't seem to be comforted by the explanation. "You're still dating a Baptist girl! How did you two even meet?"

"Well, um." Okay. Okay, he can just tell him the truth, at least until he gets to the part about finding her in that forbidden area that lay west of Second West. "I was driving around, because I just…like to drive sometimes! And I have such a hard time w-with streets and stuff…I ended up at her father's store, uh, his name is Mark Hutchison, and—"

"He owns a store?" That piques his interest. "Does she work there?" Hardworking girls meet Kevin's approval, as Arnold knows well from their days in school together.

"Yes! That's how—why I met her! I needed directions, but, uh, she was just…" He takes a deep breath, then sighs it out all at once. His memories of her when they first met are just as vivid as they were years ago, and Arnold is thankful for that fact. "She is just…so pretty." Or beautiful, or perfect. Or, that nagging little voice in the back of his head reminds him, brown. "So, um, we started talking, and then, uh…"

Holding up a hand, Kevin silences him. "Well…if she plans on converting, I can't see too much of a problem. Though I don't know why you were planning on having a date in here with her all alone." He pauses, a thought suddenly hitting him. "Well, you know, I should probably stay then, huh? Then I can meet her, and act as chaperone!"

"Uh—"

"You know, if she really is interested in becoming a Latter-Day Saint, I could always have Martha take her under her wing! You know my sister would do anything to help out a new member of the flock…"

"That's really not, uh—"

Bzzt goes the doorbell, and oh God, she's here, and Kevin heard it, and he slowly makes his way to the door to answer it which is good in a way because Arnold is glued to the spot, but bad in a whole bunch of different ways that he doesn't even want to think about.

"Arnold, this night is just getting better and better! I think you're really turning your life around now, buddy, and we both know you could definitely use a feminine influence, if you catch my drift!" With a hearty chuckle, he pulls the door open and keeps smiling.

And keeps smiling. And keeps smiling.

"Uh, hello, Miss, may I help you?"

Nadine is dressed to the nines as she always is, dress pressed perfectly with nary a hair out of place. Clutching her purse at her waist, she blinks and looks over the man who stands in the doorway. Quizzically tilting her head to the side, she opens her mouth to try a question, then shuts it again to rethink it.

"I said, may I help you, Miss?" repeats Kevin, brows furrowing and adding a good dose of confusion to his polite smile. "Are you lost?"

"No…no, I'm, um, I'm not lost, Mister. I'm just…looking for Arnold Cunningham?" That sounds like an appropriate question to ask a strange white man who slowly advances into the hall towards her, further blocking the entrance to the apartment.

His face relaxes, and he nods quietly, as if he understands. "Oh, you must be from his work! Let me guess—he forgot his watch, right? I, uh, bought him that watch he always wears when we both graduated, because his parents didn't really have the money to give him a nice present, y'know—"

"Um. No, I…I'm here to have dinner with him? He does still live here, right?"

"Excuse me?"