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  When she told him she was leaving, he’d said, No you’re not.

  I already decided.

  You’re not going. You’re not leaving.

  You can’t make me not go.

  You don’t think I can?

  No, she’d said. You can’t.

  Well, why the fuck do you wanna go down there, anyway?

  She didn’t really know.

  Why was she going down to California when things up here were fine with Len? She wondered if she really felt she owed R something or if it was just that she wanted to see what his life was like down there. See what kind of life she would have had if she hadn’t have stayed.

  R had said, Come down and see the house I bought for you.

  He’s a fag, Len had said.

  He’s not a fag.

  He is a fag.

  Psychology books and tapes hadn’t helped Adda understand why she’d felt so relieved when R had left.

  I’m going, she’d said to Len. That’s all there is to it.

  For how long?

  I told you.

  One week only?

  Yes.

  Then you’re coming back?

  Yes.

  Where are you gonna stay?

  Where do you think?

  You can’t stay with him!

  She’d said, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

  Adda you can’t fucking stay with him!

  She called Len her Come Machine. He took pride in seeing how many times he could make her come in one go. They had a joke that if he reached six Adda would wash his truck. They fucked everywhere: on the roof and in bathrooms and changing rooms and one time on the stage after her dance class when everyone had gone home and on her boss’s desk one night floating high above the city in the dark—it was so beautiful and down below in the dark the red and white lights, the cars slid down the freeway slid down the valley between the dark mountains and the dark warm sea and what was underneath and Len didn’t stop. She loved fucking him. They did things she’d never tell anyone.

  He’d said, Well, where are you gonna sleep?

  Len, just stop it.

  You’re gonna sleep in his bed with him?

  Stop it. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

  And they talked to each other during sex and called each other names and she liked it. And he let her be the man sometimes. A woman could be a man as well as a man could. Because a woman knows the difference. When she was with R she’d never thought to do or be anything other than what she was, and who she was then was not anyone special: a girlfriend, a dental-hygienist-in-training.

  She didn’t care if you brushed. She didn’t give a shit about plaque. She never flossed, herself. Her teeth were stained.

  Had she loved R then? Did she love Len now? Was it enough to care for a person’s well-being? Was it enough to be attached to someone? Enough to desire? Did it make any difference that one could make her come and the other couldn’t or that one had a dream that was coming to fruition and the other a dream that he would never fulfill because—well, because she couldn’t see it happening?

  Was all this—had it always been—was all she capable of—just a cheap imitation of love?

  (What are you waiting for, Adda?

  I don’t know.

  What’s wrong with you, Adda?)

  She didn’t know.

  Was anyone actually in love?

  (Are any of you out there in love?)

  She could see Len down on the street, walking back to the apartment with a bag in his arms. She could see on the window that it was beginning to rain. He looked so small.

  Adda let the curtain fall and sat back down on the bed. She went back to working on her fingernails, looking up every so often at the door.

  Len was almost home.

  And what if she let that guy touch her? Adda wouldn’t say that she wouldn’t.

  You don’t understand, she’d said. You don’t know what you’re talking about! Then she’d gone into the bedroom and locked the door and he’d stood outside, saying:

  Just promise me you won’t let him touch you, Adda! That’s all I want to hear! Just that you won’t let him touch you! You don’t have to tell me anything else except that you won’t let him touch you! That’s all I want to hear! Just that he won’t touch you!

  Len had never hoped for anything and with her there was hope he could hope for something Christ what if she doesn’t come back?

  He needed her in the morning before he went to work. He needed her in the evening when he came home, tired. He was lowman all day.

  He couldn’t even tell you how he needed her.

  She ***** ** **** *** ** *** *** **** * *****.

  Now he stopped in front of the apartment building, looked up.

  (Please don’t leave, Adda. Just stay. It makes me crazy. Don’t leave, Adda. Stay. Please stay.)

  Len sat down on the curb and lit a smoke.

  Adda, after counting in her head much more time than it should have taken Len to dial the code to the front door, open it, walk through the lobby, then up the five steps, around the corner, open the door to the stairwell and walk through, then up the two flights of stairs, through the door, then make a right turn, then a left, then down the hall and open the apartment door, got up again from the bed and, lifting the curtain with her fingers, looked down.

  Nate thought about it, then hung up the phone and said to his girlfriend, I’ll do it later. The game’s on.

  Do it now! Sammie said.

  He picked the phone back up. Began to dial. Looked at the game on in the other room. Hung it up again.

  They were coming back. Down by ten now in the second. They’d been down by twenty in the first.

  He walked past her and sat back down on the couch, picked his beer up from the coffee table, took a drink. I’ll do it later.

  I don’t want you to do it later! she said. I want you to do it now!

  Game’s on, Nate said.

  She picked up the phone and slammed it down hard on the receiver. She did it again.

  Good, good, said Nate. Payton grabbed the rebound. Ran up the court while the defense backpedaled. Lobbed it to Baker, who blew the dunk. (Fucking Baker.) The ball went flying into the stands.

  Now she was in front of the TV. Are you gonna call or not? she said.

  Not.

  You said you would.

  Your ass is blocking the screen. Move it.

  She didn’t move.

  Move please.

  She turned the TV off.

  Hey! Nate said.

  You said you were gonna call!

  I’ll call later! I’m watching the game!

  Then give me the number! I’ll call the bitch!

  No, I don’t think so.

  He wasn’t in the mood today. He wasn’t patient enough. Get out of the way. He pointed the remote at her stomach, hit the button.

  You call her right this minute! she said. You tell her if she ever calls here again I’ll kill her! I wanna hear you do it!

  Just settle down.

  Don’t tell me to settle down! I don’t want some skank calling my man!

  Fine. Now move.

  This isn’t over!

  Fine. Move it or lose it.

  She moved and Nate hit the button again and the game came back on. Sammie stood to the side biting her lip and watching the screen and then she went back into the kitchen and filled the coffeepot. She abruptly put the pot down and walked back into the living room, grabbed the remote from Nate’s hand and turned the TV off again.

  She thinks she can call here and she can’t! You go in there right now and tell her if she calls here again she’s dead!

  I will! Turn it back on!

  I’ll turn it back on when you call her and tell her!

  I’ll call her later! I don’t get what the big deal is!

  You don’t get what the big deal is, huh? She’s a whore!

  She’s not a whore.

  She is a whore!
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  I wouldn’t be calling people whores, Nate said.

  Oh really! Now what is that supposed to mean?

  Nothing. Gimme the remote! The game’s on! For fuck sakes!

  Why is she mysteriously calling again all of a sudden?

  (Sammie you get so crazy and jealous and flip out and I can’t reason with you I can’t talk to you you just keep going on and on and…)

  I told you, Nate said. She was upset.

  Well why is she calling you? Why doesn’t she call one of her little skank friends?

  Can I just watch the game in peace please? Can I?

  What was she so upset about then?

  Nothing.

  Tell me what she was so upset about!

  Jesus Christ…

  Tell me why she called!

  (Just shut up please. Please just shut up. I’m not in the mood right now. Just leave me alone.)

  Tell me!

  (Just go into the other room and leave me alone. God, why do you have to be like this?)

  You better tell me!

  She wants me to go to church with her.

  Excuse me?

  She’s cleaned up and she thinks she wants to save my immortal soul.

  Oh, really! Sammie shifted her weight from one leg to the other. Well let me tell you something that bitch couldn’t be cleaned up with an elephant brush and let me tell you something else your immortal soul doesn’t need to be saved and if anyone’s gonna save it it’s gonna be me!

  Right.

  And that bitch cannot call my house and talk about my man’s immortal soul on my phone! What did you tell her?

  What? I told her no. I told her to leave me alone.

  That’s not what you told her! You were talking for fifteen minutes!

  Nate sighed. Will you please just turn the game on? Will you please just turn the TV on?

  I heard you laughing, Nathan. You better not be fucking her!

  (Jesus Christ…) I’m not fucking her!

  You better not be fucking that little slut!

  Quit cursing. You sound like a whore.

  Oh, now you’re calling me a whore.

  Yes, I’m calling you a whore.

  You’re the whore!

  Yeah, I’m the whore, Nate said. I’m the one who puts my tits in their mouths. I’m the one who jerks them through their pants.

  Oh really! Sammie said. First of all: Fuck you! Second of all:

  You like this apartment? You like driving the 4Runner?

  You like the weed you smoke? You like that TV?

  Forget it, Nate said.

  You like the food in the fridge? You like that beer you’re drinking?

  Forget it.

  You want to get a job? You want to sell your skateboard?

  You want to sell your guitars?

  Just forget it.

  She can’t just go to church! She’s still a whore! God doesn’t forget!

  Just—(shut up please shut the fuck up)

  God won’t forget that she’s a whore!

  Just shut up you don’t know nothing about it!

  God won’t—

  Just shut the fuck up before I slap you in the face!

  Oh, slap me! Please slap me! Slap away!

  Don’t you have to work now? Nate said. Shouldn’t you be licking a pole? Don’t you have a dick to—

  Sammie threw the remote at Nate’s head, but he ducked and it sailed right over the couch, shattered the glass of a tropical fish print on the wall. He stood up to take Sammie by the shoulders, but she threw her arms about and squirmed away, so he grabbed her again, by the arms this time, and harder so as not to lose hold of her, and he picked her up [she was kicking at him so he tightened his grip and turned her so his balls were out of harm’s way] and he walked a few steps towards the kitchen and threw her to the ground. He turned to go back to the couch, but she ran at him and cheap-shot him in the lower back, right on the kidney—hurt like hell and surprised him, he turned and swung the hard part of his forearm, forgetting to hold back and

  she dropped.

  Oh shit! Nate said. Get up! Sammie! You all right? Oh damn! I’m sorry! You OK? You surprised me. You all right? Shit. Stay there. Don’t move. I’m gonna get a towel. Just stay there. Hold on one second.

  He went into the kitchen (shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit), came back with a warm, wet towel. He knelt down and—Let’s get you up—gently lifted her to a sitting position, then began wiping her face with the towel, cleaning the blood away from her mouth and chin. Her hair kept falling in the way so he pushed it behind her ears. She looked at him like she didn’t know where she was. She rolled her jaw and cupped her lips like a fish.

  Are you OK, Sammie? Sammie? Do you know where you are? What year is it?

  Ow, she said. She put her hand to her mouth. She touched a bottom tooth and it moved. Ow, she said. Then she started to cry.

  Don’t cry, Sammie. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. No, yeah, that’s OK. You can cry if you want.

  Crying, she put her face down and covered it with her hands. Her hair came loose from behind her ears and covered her the rest of the way.

  * * * INTERMISSION * * *

  I was the man. I made seven hundred dollars a week and over there that’s serious money. You can get your dick sucked for ten dollars and that’s a quality whore. You can get whatever you want. I bought the virginity of a beautiful fourteen-year-old girl for two hundred dollars.

  My wife won’t fuck me anymore. She doesn’t like me. She hates that I brought her all the way over here even though it was her idea. She hates that she married me. She came from a good family. They wanted her to marry an American. They’re all whores over there. Even if they’re not selling their pussies. She came to America to have the American Dream and now she sees it for what it is. You know where my wife works? She works at Wal-Mart. Selling cameras. When she’s not working, she’s in the bedroom, asleep, trying to find that dream.

  I can’t stand my wife. I like my son. He’s five. He’s very intelligent for his age. He draws beautifully. He’s going to grow up to be a famous artist. My daughter…oh, she’s beautiful. She’s only seven now. She’s going to grow up and then I’ll be in trouble. Anglo-Asian women are the finest around. I’m going to be in trouble. Yeah, I’m gonna be in some serious trouble then.

  They got whatever you want over there. Say you’re into opium. Heroin. Whatever. I was never into that shit myself, but it’s there. I say that’s the real land of opportunity. I would have stayed if I could. I had a good job, a nice place. People respected me. Beautiful women. The place I have now is a piece of shit.

  I have some marijuana at the house if you want to smoke later. It really wipes you out. I rarely smoke it. I’ve had it for a long time. The black guy I got it from isn’t around anymore. I think he’s in jail. I met him at a bar one night and we hit it off. We smoked in the bathroom and then we went to his place. He was living in the basement of an old house and this girl was sitting on a mattress, strung out. She was a rail. She looked awful. I thought I recognized her and a long time later I remembered where I had seen her before. She worked years before at a Mexican restaurant that isn’t around anymore. She was the hostess and I’d always wanted to ask her out on a date. I was just a young buck like you. I’d had an interest in her for a long time—I’d even told my pals about her. She was just beautiful. She seemed incredibly fresh and clean. I almost asked her out on a date one time. I found out what time she was getting off and then I went in there right at ten and waited for her by the front desk and she came out talking to a man, who happened to be a lot more beautiful than I was, but anyway, I kept waiting for her to finish with him so I could ask her, and I was getting more and more nervous all the time, fidgeting around and the man said something that made her laugh and I knew from the way she laughed that I didn’t have a chance an
d I turned around and walked out. But there she was—although I didn’t recognize her at the time—and the black guy asked me if I wanted to fuck her.

  You know where I work? I work at St Francis Hospital. Accounts department, doing data entry. I used to make forty thousand US dollars when I was living in Thailand. I worked for an English language newspaper in Phuket town. Forty grand in Phuket, that’s like being a millionaire. I could do whatever I wanted, I could have whatever I wanted.

  My wife got ovarian cancer and she talked me into quitting my job and coming back to America. She’s fine now although sometimes I wish…

  She would have had fine treatment in Thailand anyway and I’d still be getting laid. I’m not bitter about it.

  My wife used to get upset when I looked at porn on the Internet. Now she just leaves me alone. They have anything a guy could want, but it’s not the same.

  You know that place, XTC TAN, over on Pac-Highway? It’s a tanning place and they do lingerie shows. Well that was just a front. The place used to be a whorehouse. Seriously. Right here in Federal Way. I found out about it after it got closed down. The cops came and shut it down. Now it’s under new management. They won’t even lay a finger on you.

  You know how long it’s been since I’ve been laid? You know how long it’s been since a woman has even touched my privates?

  They do whatever you want over there. You could ask them to do some weird shit and they wouldn’t judge you.

  I fucked her. This was about a year ago probably. I gave the black guy another forty bucks and he went into the other room and I went over to the girl on the mattress and got on top of her. I didn’t remember who she was. But she just laid there like a dead fish and I pulled her shorts down and went for it and she looked bored. I looked in her eyes and she was looking out the window and she looked so bored.

  They never looked bored over there. They always wanted it. They really did. You could look in their eyes and you knew they really wanted it. That’s the difference. They know not to lie. They never lie to you over there. I could come.

  The redhead was laughing with the girl next to her. She had the most perfectly straight white teeth. Raymond had never seen such perfect teeth. He supposed they might have been bleached. Did they still bleach teeth? Hadn’t he read it was bad for the enamel? Maybe they looked so white because she was so tan. Gold top, green shorts. Her top covered her breasts and shoulders. It exposed almost all of her chest and her entire stomach. Even sitting down her stomach looked toned. She must do sit-ups. And her legs! Golden brown. They looked smooth. You’d think a redhead wouldn’t tan that well, but—