hell when I was in high school. I'd had a stepfather I didn't like much, and a girlfriend who couldn't or wouldn't love me, and an imagination that told me a town called Yuma was exactly what a kid like me was looking for.
I slept. Not a good sleep. A restless, tossing one. Not nightmares. But those lonesome dreams where a girl is rejecting you, or somebody you considered a friend has suddenly turned on you. An extension of that inexplicable lonesomeness, I suppose. The smart answer was probably that when my father died my twelfth year, I felt betrayed and abandoned and never quite recovered from that feeling. He'd been my best friend. But I'm too smart to believe in smart answers. The dreams of desertion were probably inspired by events far more complicated than my father dying. Anyway, I get tired of the modern tendency to blame everything on parents.
The knock woke me quickly. I sat up and reached for the gun I kept on the nightstand. Bureau training is hard to break. I grabbed my pants and tugged them on, managing to stub my toe against the bureau as I did so. I had to swear real, real quietly.
I tiptoed to the curtain and peeked out.
Tandy stood there hugging a bottle of wine. She looked cute and sweet and sexy and scared. The night was mauve and alive with the mercury vapor lights of the parking lot and the blowing dust and cosmic seeds the prairie winds were whipping across the open spaces. I couldn't smell the impending rain in here, but I could feel it.
I went and opened the door.
TWO
"Y ou forget about me, Robert?"
"No. Huh-uh." Yawn.
"God, you did, didn't you? You were asleep, weren't you? I told you I'd sleep in your bed tonight and you forgot me?"
I'd forgotten how personally Tandy took everything. I plucked the bottle of wine from her hand. "I really appreciate you delivering the wine, though, young lady."
"Very funny. God."
"I'm sorry. I was tired. I fell asleep."
"It's barely eleven ." And pushed past me, inside.
She pulled out the chair and sat down. "Your room doesn't smell as bad as ours."
"I'm sure the management will be glad to hear that."
"It's a good thing you're cute because otherwise I'd be pissed right now. I really would."
"I fell asleep. I'm sorry."
"You have so many women throwing themselves at you that you forget when somebody tries to be tender and affectionate toward you?"
"How about some wine?"
"You could at least say you were sorry."
"I did. Twice."
"Well, then, you could at least say it again."
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. How's that?"
"I even took a shower and put on special panties."
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
W hich is how it went for the first fifteen minutes, the banter and her hurt feelings.
By the time I went into the bathroom and came back with two plastic glasses, she'd calmed down. I poured us vino and we drank, sitting up in bed, MTV on real low on the tube.
"Noah was pretty drunk tonight."
"Good for him."
"He got into it with Laura again."
"About getting married?"
"Yeah. In a weird way, I feel sorry for him. He's a jerk but he loves her. He really does."
"I kind of got that impression."
"I wish you loved me that much."
"Well, I wish you loved me that much, too."
"Really?"
"Well, sort of."
"You dipshit."
"Thank you."
"Here I was all ready for some romantic talk. You know, loveydovey . It's still hard for me to sleep around. Without some sort of lovey-dovey, anyway. But you've probably slept around a lot more than I have and you're used to it."
"I haven't slept around that much."
"You faithful to your wife?"
"Absolutely."
"But you've been sleeping around since she died?"
"Not much. I've had two long relationships."
"That's all."
"God," I said, "you working on a new Kinsey report? And while we're at it, how many have you slept with?"
"I keep strict count."
"How many?"
"Should I count the one who was so drunk he fell asleep inside me?"
"That must've been a nice experience."
"And he was as big as a bear. It
I slept. Not a good sleep. A restless, tossing one. Not nightmares. But those lonesome dreams where a girl is rejecting you, or somebody you considered a friend has suddenly turned on you. An extension of that inexplicable lonesomeness, I suppose. The smart answer was probably that when my father died my twelfth year, I felt betrayed and abandoned and never quite recovered from that feeling. He'd been my best friend. But I'm too smart to believe in smart answers. The dreams of desertion were probably inspired by events far more complicated than my father dying. Anyway, I get tired of the modern tendency to blame everything on parents.
The knock woke me quickly. I sat up and reached for the gun I kept on the nightstand. Bureau training is hard to break. I grabbed my pants and tugged them on, managing to stub my toe against the bureau as I did so. I had to swear real, real quietly.
I tiptoed to the curtain and peeked out.
Tandy stood there hugging a bottle of wine. She looked cute and sweet and sexy and scared. The night was mauve and alive with the mercury vapor lights of the parking lot and the blowing dust and cosmic seeds the prairie winds were whipping across the open spaces. I couldn't smell the impending rain in here, but I could feel it.
I went and opened the door.
TWO
"Y ou forget about me, Robert?"
"No. Huh-uh." Yawn.
"God, you did, didn't you? You were asleep, weren't you? I told you I'd sleep in your bed tonight and you forgot me?"
I'd forgotten how personally Tandy took everything. I plucked the bottle of wine from her hand. "I really appreciate you delivering the wine, though, young lady."
"Very funny. God."
"I'm sorry. I was tired. I fell asleep."
"It's barely eleven ." And pushed past me, inside.
She pulled out the chair and sat down. "Your room doesn't smell as bad as ours."
"I'm sure the management will be glad to hear that."
"It's a good thing you're cute because otherwise I'd be pissed right now. I really would."
"I fell asleep. I'm sorry."
"You have so many women throwing themselves at you that you forget when somebody tries to be tender and affectionate toward you?"
"How about some wine?"
"You could at least say you were sorry."
"I did. Twice."
"Well, then, you could at least say it again."
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. How's that?"
"I even took a shower and put on special panties."
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry."
W hich is how it went for the first fifteen minutes, the banter and her hurt feelings.
By the time I went into the bathroom and came back with two plastic glasses, she'd calmed down. I poured us vino and we drank, sitting up in bed, MTV on real low on the tube.
"Noah was pretty drunk tonight."
"Good for him."
"He got into it with Laura again."
"About getting married?"
"Yeah. In a weird way, I feel sorry for him. He's a jerk but he loves her. He really does."
"I kind of got that impression."
"I wish you loved me that much."
"Well, I wish you loved me that much, too."
"Really?"
"Well, sort of."
"You dipshit."
"Thank you."
"Here I was all ready for some romantic talk. You know, loveydovey . It's still hard for me to sleep around. Without some sort of lovey-dovey, anyway. But you've probably slept around a lot more than I have and you're used to it."
"I haven't slept around that much."
"You faithful to your wife?"
"Absolutely."
"But you've been sleeping around since she died?"
"Not much. I've had two long relationships."
"That's all."
"God," I said, "you working on a new Kinsey report? And while we're at it, how many have you slept with?"
"I keep strict count."
"How many?"
"Should I count the one who was so drunk he fell asleep inside me?"
"That must've been a nice experience."
"And he was as big as a bear. It
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