TAPE SIX										10/25/85

	After that experience with Marlene I decided I'd had enough. It was time to cut my losses and be grateful for what I'd gained. In a couple of months I'd learned more than most guys knew by seventeen or eighteen in those days. Maybe it could even be played for popularity points. Kids always seemed envious of guys who'd done it. But that didn't really interest me. I knew that I needed Marlene. What I didn't need was the craziness, and with her that was only getting worse.
	It had seemed like she'd gradually taken the edge off her tough image, but now she began to go in for super-tough. Her clothes became extra-tight and almost all black. A little more of that and the girls' vice-principal was sure to call her in. She put on enough make-up to paint a ship, and her hair was always ratted and piled high. I was happy enough not to be seen with her in school. It wasn't like I was in love or anything.
	The rest of December slipped by with no particular excitement. I wasn't working out much. Cross country season had ended, and track wouldn't begin until the next semester. We'd ended up third in the league, which wasn't bad for the first year the school had really put up a team. As usual, my classes were OK. I was pulling pretty good grades with no great effort. And so I coasted into Christmas.
	By 1955 everyone in the U.S. had been White Christmassed so much that they were convinced that if it didn't snow by December 25 you were missing out on one of your constitutional rights. That song is really a great example of what an inspired jingle can do for an otherwise negative product. One of nature's most miserable conditions was turned into the indispensable ingredient for enjoying Christmas, which, God knew, had to be enjoyed, or else. And through the usual perversity of human nature, those who'd never really seen the stuff were the most convinced that they were being cheated out of their birthrights. I'm sure that everyone in Southern California felt - like I did - that we'd never experienced a really, honest-to-God, genuine Christmas. Meanwhile in Keokuk, where they had ten to twenty feet of the magic ingredient, those who could afford it were buying tickets to L.A. or Miami or Bimini to spend the holidays. Ford should've hired Irving Berlin to write a few Edsel jingles.
	That year, however, as we geared up to suffer through another snowless season, a truly amazing thing happened. After one of the longest, hottest summers most could remember, about a week before Christmas, a storm took a wrong turn upstate and ended up over the Sierra Madres where it dumped several feet of the white stuff. There were even two or three inches of snow in La Canada and Tujunga, only five miles north of us. A local holiday declared itself as the the roads into the foothills packed with gawkers.
	And then, with only two days to go, everyone was astounded when that storm's little sister came tagging along and dropped even more magic. We woke up to find Mount Verdugo and the lower foothills blanketed within sight of our house. In the early morning there were even flakes on our lawn, but they quickly evaporated as I tried to scoop them up.
	Well, that was it! The Christmas spirit was on me as it never had been and never would be again. I found a sort of seedy old muffler and my father's navy jacket and after breakfast rushed downtown to do my Christmas shopping. Brand Boulevard was packed with other shoppers in heavy coats and old ear muffs and any other ragbag clothes that they could pretend were for snow.
	There were really only three people I had to buy for. But, despite my decision about Marlene, I thought about buying something for her, too. First, I wasn't sure that I wanted to do that, and second, nothing I saw in the the stores seemed like something she might like. Records and books were too impersonal, but buying something personal for her involved knowing her in ways that I didn't.  It was strange that I could know her so much better in one way than I knew anyone else but not have a clue as to who she really was.
	I'd about given up that whole idea. I was walking down Brand after picking up some shaving lotion and cologne for Danny and a Christmas record for his wife when I passed a narrow storefront that I'd never noticed before. It was an antique store with a display of old jewelry in the window. Most of it looked junky, but to one side of the display there was a small locket on a fine chain. It caught my attention. For a minute or so I studied it. It appeared to be gold, but rather dark. I figured it was plated. It was a heart locket, but you had to look closely to make it out. An intricate design of vines and flowers done in fine wire enmeshed the heart so that it was barely visible. After looking at it carefully, but with no purpose in mind, I continued down the street.
	About a block from the store I did an about-face and returned. When I pulled on the door it seemed locked; then suddenly it gave way, and I was inside. As I remember it, the store was a tremendous heap. Old objects were piled everywhere, and yet the place did not give the impression of being dirty as it should have been if the things had been there for years collecting dust. Surely no one would deliberately arrange a store that way all at once. It appeared to have accumulated over decades.
	Some of the objects were fascinating. There were old instruments, small furnishings, clothing, and a selection of old clocks. As I walked toward the back looking for the curator of the place I passed a glass case filled with cut crystal and frosted glass. To my right were piled up several stained glass windows and next to them were shelves with all sorts of colored glass things: vases, glasses, flower tubes and figurines. They gave off shimmering lights that covered that side of the room like a kaleidoscope. I couldn't figure out where the light was coming from. There were only a few bare bulbs that hung down on long cords and a little light from the front window, yet the glassware shone as if it was giving off its own energy.
	The store looked small, but the trip from the front to the back seemed unreasonably long. Finally I reached a showcase in the back that looked like a counter and looked around for a sales clerk. The wall behind the counter had a small doorway covered with a heavy curtain.  There wasn't any movement in the back room, although I'd made an effort to scuffle my feet and cough several times as I came in. At last I called out,
	"Anyone here?"
	"Of course. I'm certainly here," said a very clear voice directly in front of me. And there she certainly was.
	She was very old and rather short. Maybe she'd been squatting behind the counter or maybe she'd come through the curtain as I looked away for a second. Her sudden appearance about gave me a heart attack. Possibly she'd simply materialized out of the curtain. Her dress was brown like it was, and they both needed ironing. As I got my breath back I noticed that her face was the same: brown, fuzzy and wrinkled. Her grey, wiry hair was clean, though, and pulled back tightly into a bun. She appeared harmless enough, and I relaxed a little.
	"May I help you?"
	"Yes. I was interested in seeing..."
	"Some jewelry?"
	"Yes. How did you know?"
 	"What would a young man be looking for in an antique store before Christmas?"
	"Yes, well, it's something I saw in the front window."
	"A locket perhaps? Perhaps a heart entwined with flowers?"
	She produced a locket from behind the counter. I looked the same as the one I'd seen in the window, but a little shinier. I eyed her suspiciously. Did she have a locket factory in the back room?
	I left her and picked my way back to the front of the store. The display window was enclosed by glass on the inside, but I could see that the locket had been removed from its place. I went back to the old lady and asked,
	“Even if you saw me before, how did you know I’d be back?"
	"You have a suspicious nature. Good. Let's say it's woman's intuition. I just felt you would return."
	"But how did you know I was looking at that locket?l'
	"Intuition, as I said. Would you like to look at it?"
	Her voice had what I guessed was like a Jamaican accent, which was a little odd for Glendale. She placed the locket on a piece of black velvet which lay on the counter. It was as I'd seen it: apparently a twist of vines and flowers, but with a heart barely visible inside the design.
	'May I pick it up?"
	"A very polite young man. Certainly, you may."
	It was heavier than I'd expected, although it was only about the size of a quarter. I cradled it in my hand and felt its gravity. Perhaps it absorbed the warmth of my hand or maybe the old lady'd been holding it, but it felt warm, even like it was pulsating. I found the split between the halves and opened it with my thumb nail. Both compartments were empty, but there were spaces for two pictures. Considering the warm relations that existed between Marlene and me, it was strange that I'd even consider such a gift. Dueling pistols might be more to the point. I put it down.
	“How much is it?"
	"A very direct young man. Don't you wish to know more about the piece? What it's made of? Who made it? It's design?"
	I was usually very polite with older people. I guess it came from being with my grandparents a lot. But for some reason I was more direct with her.
	"It looks like gold, but I'm no expert. If it's really gold I guess it's too expensive. I know I like the way it looks, so how much is it?"
	What I didn't want was a long story about all the dead hands that had touched that locket. Maybe she sensed that. She laughed heartily.
	I've always been sort of a collector of laughs and this one pleased me. Some people say they can learn everything about a person from his eyes. Laughs tell me more than eyes. The one thing eyes tell me about is death. For some reason impending death comes through eyes very clearly to me. I’d seen death's dull vacuum in our dog's eyes the first day of the attack, but I'd denied it. The same thing was in the eyes of some of the old ladies in resthomes who Grandma'd told me to call 'auntie.'
	Hearing the old lady's unexpectedly clear laugh, I was moved to look directly into her eyes. In spite of her bent body and wrinkled face, nothing but life met me there. She was watching me like she knew what I was doing. Could she hear my thoughts? Were we members of some Weird People's Club with our own secret language?  Whatever it was, she seemed happy enough with what I didn't see in her eyes.
	"So, you don't want to hear the story about the locket. Maybe better.  Then it's yours as though it were new. It is a valuable piece, as you say, but I will ask fifty dollars of you for it."
	Again I looked at her carefully. Fifty dollars was a lot of money for me to consider spending - even on someone in my own family - and this was for a girl who was always going nuts and driving me away. But it wasn't impossible. I'd had a paper route and cut lawns in the neighborhood and saved almost all I'd earned. During the last year running had taken most of my extra time so I hadn't added much. I'd decided that when I was sixteen I'd use the money - about three hundred dollars - to buy a car. I guessed I could use some of that money now - no one watched how I spent it - but why?
	"How do you determine the value of something like this," I asked.
	"There's no set way. Believe me, the piece is worth much more, but I calculate you can pay fifty."
	"And if you lose money?"
	"Why should you worry about that? Sometimes other considerations determine my price.”
	"And if I offer thirty?"
	"Then you would not respect its value. For you, fifty is the price."
	"Can you hold it for tomorrow? If I can get the money I'll come back in the morning.”
	"I can hold it."
	I can't say I spent a sleepless night worried about what to do. I barely thought about it. The next morning I went to the bank, withdrew the money and bought the locket. 

	Whatever other family obligations my mother may have given up, she remained pretty firm about holiday meals. Now the family was down to her, Danny, Dede and me, but she made life generally miserable if anyone got ideas about eating a holiday meal in some other company. Up to this point she'd always had these meals at our house and had done all the preparations. Dede usually brought some vegetables or a pie or something like that, but basically it was my mother's operation.
	But Dede was beginning to get a little hardheaded herself. I'm sure life with Danny could do that to a person. That year she declared to my mother that dinner was at her house and we were invited. My mother groused about that for a while, but her banker's heart realized that, no matter what she made, there were too many leftovers for two people to eat before they dried out. Now she couldn't even feed them to the dog. So she took the tune that Dede needed the experience and agreed.
	On Christmas Eve my problem was how to get my present over to Marlene's house before we left. I hadn't seen her in the days since I bought the locket, and I didn't want just to leave it in her mail box in case it might be stolen. I figured that there was probably a good chance that she'd be home on Christmas Eve, so I'd planned to take a little walk by there before we went over to Danny's. Now my mother, who'd been planning to go there about six decided it would be nice to leave earlier so she could help Dede get ready - or catch her by surprise taking shortcuts with the food. Christmas brings out the best in us all.
	I thought fast and said,
	"I was planning to take a present over to a friend's house. I didn't think you were ready to go yet."
	"What friend? Why are you buying presents for your friends now? Are you suddenly into a fortune I didn't know about?"
	"Nah. It's just a gag gift for Mike Van Ark. We drew lots in class, and I was supposed to give it to him before the break. But I missed class that day because of a cross country meet. I thought he might get a kick out of it while it's still Christmas."
	Cross country meets had been over for a month, but of course she didn't have any idea about that. Mike Van Ark was a jerk who lived up the street from us. He thought I was a jerk too, and you can guess that we didn't spend much time together, but I often used him as an excuse to get away from the house in an emergency. I was going to stop doing that because my mother was beginning to wonder if we were such great pals why he never came over to my house.
	"Well," she said, "if it's such an emergency, I can drop you by there on our way to Danny's. He lives near here doesn't he?"
	"Yeah, it's just up the street, but he might see your car and know who left the present for him. I'll just run up there and be back before you leave."
	"I was planning to go right now. Why do you always do this? Just when I'm ready to go somewhere you hold me up."
	“I thought you were going later. Listen, don't worry. I can jog over to Danny's house. It's only a couple of miles away. It'll be a good workout."
	"You'll get all sweaty, and it's too cold outside."
	"How can I get sweaty if it's too cold?"
	"Don't answer everything I say. Hurry up then if you've got to. I don't know why you've always got to be so inconsiderate."
	She changes the time without telling anyone, and I'm inconsiderate. She was right about the cold, though. The days since the snowstorms had been sunny, but there was still snow on the hills, and the nights were going below freezing. I grabbed the navy jacket, stuffed the small box in the jacket pocket and took off out the front door.
	"Where's the present?" she called.
	"Right here," I shouted, showing her the box.
	"Why is it so little?"
	"Good things in small packages. It's a mouse trap that'll go off when he opens the box."
	"Andy!"
	By that point I was almost a block away blowing plumes of steam out of my mouth and nose as I covered the three blocks to Marlene's house in a quick jog. The icy air cut down into my lungs, but, in spite of the unusual cold I really felt great, like I was sailing along on little jet shoes or something.
	When I turned the corner onto Marlene's street I was surprised to see cars lined up on both sides of the street. There must have been twenty or thirty parked there, all pretty new and most of them pretty expensive, too. With all the old ladies that lived around there it was strange to see so many cars - I mean, it just wasn't the neighborhood for raucous parties.
	Then, as I got near Marlene's house, I could see that it was the only one on the street that was all lit up. That was where the party was going on. Every room in the house had lights on. A big arch of fir boughs and red lights that hadn't been there the day before had been placed over the front door. Lights danced along the edge of the roof, and every window on the front had colored lights around it. The curtains of the big arched window had been drawn all the way back, and you could see lots of people wandering around the living room with drinks in their hands looking all jolly and ho-ho-hoish.
	And there in the center of the window, as though posing for a whiskey ad or something, was Marlene in a slinky black cocktail dress all arm in arm with someone who looked a hell of a lot like a kid named Ronnie Robertson.
	I was sure it was Robertson, but what the hell was he doing with Marlene?  I had no idea he even knew her. I looked around the street, and sure enough there was his customized '49 Ford with the two-inch thick metallic blue paint job.
	Robertson was nice enough, I guess, if you liked oil slicks. His parents really had some coins, as his car and his clothes clearly showed.  He didn't do too much that made him famous at school, but he had a big reputation with the girls, and he could get a date with anyone he wanted to.
	But how did he know Marlene? The only guys I'd ever seen her talking to were Leo Frank and other leather-jacket hoods. Robertson was definitely not in that group. Maybe he sniffed around the tough girls, but his interests were clearly more uptown. He and Marlene just didn't seem a very likely combination .
	I got behind a tree,then watched the window. Marlene looked great. She was such a total chameleon: one person at school, another at home, and now this. Still, she looked damn good.
	Just then she snaked her hand up behind Robertson's head, like you see those breathy actresses do in the movies, and brought his face down to hers for a long, steamy kiss. He put his drink down on the grand piano, put both arms around her and really gave her a hell of a kiss - like they weren't really standing in front of a window large enough to fit into a department store or anything.
	The timing of the whole thing was so perfect I'd swear it was all set up just for me - like some sort of movie that doesn't start until you step on a hidden button on the floor. I watched as they finished the kiss, turned and strolled toward the dining room. It couldn't have been set up. How could she even know I would show up at that moment? She didn't even look out toward the street, and nobody would give a whole party just to put on a show for me, anyway. Still, that's just what it felt like, and the next thing was even worse. I'd swear that someone was standing right behind me with a baseball bat and let me have it right over the kidneys. It just about doubled me up. I lurched forward, and as I tried to straighten up, the pain moved up from my back right into the center of my chest.
	When I was a younger kid I used to get sick - I mean really nauseated from all the songs about broken hearts. I couldn't understand why singers would moan on about some pain that couldn't happen anyway. I mean, what the hell was a broken heart? Did it just pop open and start shooting blood all over the room?
	But, boy, now I knew what they were groaning about. Up to then I had no idea that I really cared about Marlene in any emotional way, but I couldn't have hurt more if someone had taken a chisel and hammer to the old ticker. It hurt right there, and it really did hurt.
	I turned away from the house and dragged my way down the hill to where my mother was waiting with the car already running. As we drove to Danny's she noticed the change in my mood.
	“So, your friend caught you giving him a mouse trap and gave you what you deserve! You should know that no one wants to receive something like that on Christmas. It's not April Fools' Day. You just don't have consideration for others, Andy. I wish you'd listen to me sometimes, but you only learn when someone gives you your comeupance."
	I sat quietly, trying to refigure my life. Every so often something my mother was saying drifted in. She just droned on as we made the short drive, and, of course, had to repeat it all for everyone at Danny's house.
	Dede - apparently putting my mood together with the idea of a rejected gift - arched her eyebrows and gave me a very pointed sideways glance. She spent so much time reading romance magazines, she could smell something romantic a mile away. I pitied Danny if his eyes ever started roving. But my mother just raved on. The woman was so perceptive.

	I guess it was somewhere around February when I saw Marlene again - that is, saw her to talk to. I never gave her the locket, first because I didn't want to and then because I lost it.
	It was on a weekend evening. I was home by myself with nothing to do. Things were going OK. There hadn't been any more visions or weird happenings. Even without Marlene’s help things were smooth enough, but there was still something that wasn't connecting, like something was missing in the middle of things and sometimes that made me nervous.
	I decided to clean out my closet. Now, that was not my typical thing to do on a Saturday night, but no one had called about a party or anything. I almost never saw Al now except at track practice and I’d learned not to pressure Glenn. He was not exactly what I'd thought. He blew hot and cold about people, me included. Anyway, the closet pissed me off. It was full of kid's stuff, like old comics and toys. It was time to get rid of all that.
	When I moved one of the boxes on the upper shelf, though, a bottle rolled over and nearly split my head. I grabbed it in time. It was a fifth of vodka. It could only be Glenn’s. He was so proud of being the procurer - usually from his brother's friends - although I guessed he probably stole this one from his father because he usually only bought pints. He probably stuck it in the closet as insurance against a dry night. It pissed me a little, but not much. There wasn't much danger my mother would ever clean my room.
	For a while I kept cleaning, but every so often my eye strayed over to the bottle. I'd gone to some other parties with Glenn since the time we visited Jo's house. He even had one at his house. Always there was drinking, and at his house a lot of guys got drunk. A friend of his brother got naked, ran around the block and came back with a few new friends from the GPD. I didn't really like drinking though, and even that time I only had a couple. It wasn't that I didn't like the feelings and the forgetting that booze produced, but I still had this fear of letting my head get too far out of control.
	Still, I looked at the bottle, and thoughts of warm feelings and Jo Riggs came back to me.  We'd never gone back there, probably because her brother and Glenn's were friends and Glenn didn't want to mess with her. Maybe what I'd suggested that night worried him, too.
	I went to the kitchen and poured some soda then went back and added vodka. I didn't know much about mixing, and it was pretty strong. There was no particular reason for drinking; I was just bored. But as I drank, Jo Riggs came more and more into my head. 
	I’d about given up on cleaning. Mostly I lay back on my bed thinking about this and that and coming back to Jo. I mixed another drink and then decided that there was no reason I couldn't visit her myself. I thought about Glenn and me and Jo that night and felt myself get hard. Now that I’d given up on Marlene, so to speak, I really needed someone else. Maybe it was time for a return visit.
	I wasn't watching how I mixed the drinks. That was usually Glenn's job. They were all pretty strong, but after the first one, I didn't notice. When I got up, though, the floor was a little tricky, not quite flat, a little mushy in some places. I found the navy jacket, which had become my trademark, and got it on.
	When I got outside I saw a heavy fog had settled in. It was hard to see even to the corner, and my head wasn't cooperating much with directions.  Still, I managed to find Jo’s street and, although I missed it once, finally even found her house. I knocked, maybe too loudly, and almost at once the door flew open. It was Jo's brother, Ted. I recognized him from school.
	"Yeah?" he drawled.
	He was a big guy - bigger than I thought - which maybe explained why Glenn didn't mess around there.  Just then I saw Jo crossing the hall from the kitchen to the stairs. When she saw me she looked a little panicked and hurried to get up the stairs. Her brother caught her movement and looked back suspiciously.
	"I know you," he said. "You go to Hoover, don't you? You hang around with little Potter."
	"Yeah," I said, trying to get my brain into some kind of functioning gear. But a green haze was settling between me and the controls.
	"Well, whadaya want?"
	"I, uh, well, I was looking for Mike Van Ark's house," I lied, using the usual dodge.
	"Van Ark," he almost screamed. "He doesn't live around here. You don't hang around with him, do you?"
	"Well, not much, but we do have this class together, uh, geography, that's it, and we have this project we're doing together, and I thought he lived around here."
	I was slurring and he seemed to smell something on my breath. I stepped back a little. He advanced into the doorway.
	"Right! You're doing a school project with Van Ark on Saturday night.  I wonder why I never knew he was such a scholar. I always thought he was sort of a hood.”
	I moved a little more out of the circle of light that poured from the door and hung in the fog.
	"You sure you didn't have something else in mind?" he went on. "You sure you haven't been around here before, maybe with your buddy Glenn?"
	He looked back at the rapidly retreating form of his sister on the stairs.
	"Been here before? Me? How would I know where you lived? I mean, if I knew who you were, right? Me, I'm just an ol' stranger in the night. Well, listen, good seein' ya. Say hi to Glenn's brother when you see him."
	"Yeah, say hi to Johnny Walker. Say hi to Commander Whitehead."
	The door slammed me back into the haze. I could hear him screaming something at Jo, like this was nothing new. Maybe that was why they had her in a Catholic school. Maybe that was why she was so horny.
	Now the spongy clamp of the alcohol locked down for good. The haze poured from my brain and joined its sister outside. I had no idea where I was. I thought I was going uphill, but maybe it was down. I could have been floating in space or sleeping. From time to time I passed into a field of light around a street lamp and then back into the grey.
	At one point everything lit up. Two bright lights passed by me fast and then there was a terrific screech and someone swearing. All I could see was two dots of red in the haze. I still had enough sense to find a hedge and throw myself behind it. Some people were saying something about almost hitting a kid in the street, but when they didn't find anyone, the red lights were sucked into the haze like everything else.
	Panic began to pierce my stupor. I was still connected enough to realize the horrible possibilities of being lost in a blinding fog. I might stumble all the way to Burbank and disappear forever. How many people have you ever heard of who came from Burbank?  Or I might get down to the L.A. River and fall in and die of thirst. As I staggered on, the horrors awaiting me became more terrifying by the minute. It seemed I'd been walking for hours from one island of lamplight to the next, trying in vain to make some logic of the street signs I could manage to read.
	At last I gave it up and threw myself down on a damp lawn to sleep it off. Let the monsters of the night have me! I couldn't go on. But as I lay there, something penetrated the haze. There was an upside-down door in my dreams and a porch light that I thought I knew. If I could just turn it around I might make some sense of it. I struggled with the image and finally rolled to my stomach. I was looking straight at Marlene's wide oak plank front door. I was on her front lawn.
	Unsteadily, I got to my feet and made it to the porch were I flopped down again. Maybe I slept for some time. Finally I gathered myself and, without considering the possibility of facing her father instead of Marlene, rang the bell and then pounded on the door. 
	With the chain on, it opened a crack.
	"What do you want?" she said coldly.
	"I'm lost."
	"You're three blocks from your house."
	"I don't seem to be able to think too clearly."
	She slid the chain from the latch and opened the door enough to see me more clearly.
	"You're drunk'
	"How can you tell? Vodka is supposed to keep your secret secret."
 	"I can tell you're drunk because you look terrible and because you just told me." 		"Very intui...intui...very smart." 
	"Go home." 
	"I just told you: I'm lost." 
	"Go home." 
	She slammed the door. That made me mad. She was just too damn snotty. No one should get away with treating her fellow man so shabbily. I began ringing and pounding along with some yelling and maybe a few obscenities. The door opened again.
	"Get the hell out of here. You'll wake up all the neighbors." 
	"To hell with your neighbors. TO HELL WITH ALL THE OLD LADIES IN THE WHOLE FUCKIN' WORLD!!!" 
	She grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me into the entrance hall. 
	"Listen. You knock it off or I'll call the cops right now.”
	"I just need a moment's respite, kind lady, before I continue my noble quest."
	Her eyes searched the ceiling for something.
	"You need some coffee and then a quick trip home. I'll make some for you."
	"I don't like coffee."
	"Well, that's tough shit. You're not going to spend the night here."
	"I guess you don't talk to Ronnie Robertson like that," I said in a voice somewhere between petulant and stupid.
	"What do you know about Ronnie Robertson, and what business is it of yours, anyway?"
	"I saw him at your Christmas Party. You were both standing in the front window."
	 "You creep. When are you going to stop spying on me and everyone else
in the neighborhood?"
	"I told you, I don't spy. Anyway I was just bringing you a Christmas present which I threw away and wouldn't give to you anyway, even if I had it."
	"Who cares? Who wants your presents? And you didn't have any present. Who knows how many nights you've been lurking around outside? It gives me the creeps."
	That really hurt.
	"That really hurts. I ought to leave just for that.”
	I thought about the fog.
	"But you offered me coffee and I'll take it."
	I lurched into the kitchen. She followed me and began to make a pot of coffee. I tried to remember how the kitchen had been before. It was hard to concentrate. Everything seemed the same, but I was sure they'd changed the doors of the cabinets. Now they were mahogany like the rest of the downstairs.
	"Look, Andy, I don't know why you came by here tonight, and I don't know why you're drinking. But there's no reason for you to come here again. I don't want you. I don't want your presents. And I don't want you hanging around my house.
	The alcohol was definitely bringing me down now, and that, together with Marlene's nice speech, had the tears pushing against the back of my eyes. I really didn't want to turn sloppy. The coffee was beginning to perk and smelled good, but I wheeled around and headed for the front door.
	"Hey, I didn't mean you couldn't drink your coffee. Wait a minute."
	I'd reached the door and she still stood in the kitchen. The mist on the other side of the door held a real terror for me, but, drunk or not, I was furious. I turned again to face her. I guess my emotions were hanging all over my face.
	"Ever since I’ve known you you've been shitty to me,” I drawled.  “I'm not any of the things you called me, and there's nothing so damn wunnerful about you, either. Don't worry about seein’ me again; you won't."
	With that I turned and swung open the heavy door and jammed my fists down into the jacket pockets. There was a ripping sound as my right fist found a little tear in the bottom of the pocket, opened it and followed on into the lining where it touched a small object wrapped in paper. For a minute I stood with my back to Marlene fumbling for the thing in the lining, and then I turned in triumph with the little jewelry box in its red wrapping in my hand.
	"Look," I said, immediately forgetting the emotions of the previous minute, "the gift. That's what happened to it. I had it in the pocket of the jacket and it dropped through into the lining."
	Then I came back to myself, darkened, and turned for the door. Marlene crossed the entrance hall and stood in the door as I reached the steps.
	"What did you find?"
	"I found your Christmas gift, which I'd lost and which I will now throw away or give to someone else. No, I'll take it back to the old lady and get my money back, that's what."
	"What is it?"
	I stopped on the lower step.
	"What do you care? Or do you take presents from creeps and perverts."
	"I was just curious. Look, I didn't know it was so foggy out here. Come back, sit down and drink some coffee before you go home.”
	The fog seemed to have gotten heavier still. Beyond the circle of light from the lamp on Marlene's front porch I could see nothing, not even the jacaranda trees. Drops were falling from the roof. I considered the alternatives for a moment and then turned.
	''I'll only come back if you let me sit down and drink some coffee."
	Marlene's eyes searched the ceiling again, but she moved to let me pass.
	"Sit down in the living room. It's warmer there. I'll bring the drinks."
	I threw myself down on the super-long, super-soft sofa and was partially digested by it. Marlene returned with a large mug of coffee which she set on the coffee table in front of me. Next to it she put sugar.
	“Do you use cream?'
	"Yeah. Milk's OK."
	She went out to get some milk and I tried to reach forward to put sugar in the coffee, but the maws of the monster sofa held me firm. It seemed to have my butt already swallowed and was working on my right leg. I struggled to free myself as Marlene came back with a small pitcher of milk. I hid my battle behind a smile but could still not move enough to reach the coffee.
	"Well,” she said, much nicer than before, "drink your coffee."
	She moved it closer to me so that I managed to load it with milk and sugar without moving more. I grinned weakly, covering my fear of being cannibalized and took a few sips.
	“Well, aren't you going to show it to me?
	“What ?”
	"The gift."
	"Why would you be interested in something from a creep?
	"OK, if you're going to be snotty."
	"Look who's talking about snotty. Well take a look if you want, but don't mess it up. I want to get my money back on it."
	She gave me a dirty look and took the box. I tried to stand again, but the sofa had begun on my left leg. I gave up the fight for a minute and watched as she unwrapped the blue velvet box and lifted the little lid. Her expression, which had been very condescending, changed a lot. At first she looked surprised, then confused, then very curious. I could barely see the jumble of delicate vines around the locket, but it looked the same as I'd remembered it. After studying it carefully and looking at it from different angles, she reached to take it out of the box. As she touched it, she drew back her hand quickly. Perhaps she pricked herself on one of the vines, but I remembered the warm sensation I'd felt when I first touched it. Finally she took it out of the box and stood holding it up, dangling in front of her.
	"You stole it from your mother."
	This time I put my heart into the fight and sprang up beside her as the monster, finally tiring of an indigestible butt, spit me out.
	"God damn you. I don't know why I would ever want to give you anything."
	I grabbed the locket as she backed away amazed.
	"I'm no thief. I'm no creep. I'm no pervert. You're a..... Oh, no!"
	Maybe it was the sudden change of altitude or maybe it was the supersweet coffee, but my rage suddenly changed to something else. I managed to get to the front door and down the steps before everything that had entered my mouth for the last three weeks came up, and when that was done the stomach started working on the next three. I'd never felt so rotten.
	After several minutes of that I was exhausted. I looked like some weird dog, down on all fours, making strange barking sounds, my little puddle in front of me. Marlene stood watching from her front porch. When she felt it was safe, she came down to the lawn, passed by me, knelt down and picked up the locket, which had flown out of my hand and buried itself in the grass. For a minute she studied it again. Then she returned to me, approaching carefully from behind and, putting her hands under my arms, lifted me and guided me back into the house. She took me into the kitchen where she told me to wash my face and mouth.
	"That was disgusting," she said.
	"Really!"
	"I suppose I should thank you for at least getting out of the house."
	"Oh, anytime. Don't mention it."
	"Don't worry."
	She took me back into the living room where she tried to get me to lie down and rest on the sofa. I chose the rug instead. It was also super-soft, and I hated to think what would happen to someone who fell asleep on that damned furniture. I drifted quickly into a drugged sleep.
	Some time later - it must have been about midnight - I woke up to someone prodding me in my side. She stood above me, nudging me with her foot. She'd put on jeans and a heavy jacket.
	"You'd better get up. I'll help you get home. My father'll be coming home any time now."
	"It's OK. I can make it myself. I feel better now."
	The drunkenness had left me, but in its place was a weakness and the beginnings of a tremendous headache. I tried to stand up, and sat right back down, bumping my side on the coffee table.
	"Yeah, you're in great shape. C'mon, I'll help you. It's still foggy. You'll get lost again - if you really were lost."
	I started to say something back, but let it go. There wasn't much fight left in me.
	We made it over to our street and down the hill. At the back door I told her that I could make it in OK, but she insisted on getting me into my room, like she was all maternal now or something. No one was home. My mother's "meeting" had apparently gone into extra innings.
	Marlene went into the bathroom and got me some aspirin and water while I got down to my shorts and T-shirt and sat down on the edge of the bed. She gave me the aspirin, then sat next to me, waiting. When I finished drinking she said,
	"You forgot something."
	She produced the locket from her pocket. I tried to look into her eyes to get some sign of her emotions, but there was hardly light in the room. I'd left it off because it hurt my eyes.
	"I didn't forget it. It's yours,” I said in a flat tone.  “It's not for anyone else."
	Even in the dim light I could make out her smile. It wasn't big, but it looked happier that I'd ever seen on her. She kissed me on the cheek. I tried to put my arms around her, but at that moment the headache returned with a few of its friends. She slipped away easily.
	"I've no intention of listening to your springs again," she said.
	"I'll get the oil can," I suggested, squinting at her against the pain.
	Her voice wasn't exactly loving, but kinder that I'd heard before.
	"Just get some sleep. You can't even walk, much less...I'll see you tomorrow."
	I dropped back on the bed and waved weakly as she let herself out. In a few minutes I was into a deep sleep.