"We really lucked out in that department," said Krista. "Inher soph.o.m.ore year at U. of R, Mom got the heave-ho from G.o.d-spell, and she vowed to wreak vengeance on the state of Florida.We're her weapons."

Said Cindy: "You have to have a mother pushing you thewhole way from, like, two onward. For most of us show dogs,we're not even aware of how distorted and grimly f.u.c.ked up we are until it's too late. They have to get you when you're young."

"And your mom has to buy and make you, like, a thousandlittle outfits a year," said Krista, "and your mother has to makeyou dress like a stripper at the age of, like, five."

"Some parents will do anything. There's this actress outthere-Susan-oh-what's her name, Kris?

She's in the Where-Are-They-Now? file-the one who disappeared for a year."

"Colgate. Susan Colgate," Krista answered, "Yeah. In junior high her parents moved to Cheyenne,Wyoming, just to improve their chances of being able to repre-sent an entire state in the national compet.i.tions. Yeah-MissWyoming. Ha!"

"Missed her," said John. "I don't pay attention to TV. It turnedto trash in the eighties. I stopped watching it, period."

Music then swirled through the room's air-horns and jazz,and the lights dimmed to candle strength.

"The lights are on atimer," John said, but it didn't matter, because the room becamesmaller, the air charged like summer's eve, and the three of themclinked the ice that remained in their gla.s.ses. The sisters began to remove their angoras. "No, don't," John said. "No. Let's keepit perfect." And the girls said, "Fine."

"Come work for me," he said.

"What?" came the reply in stereo.

"Be my a.s.sistants. I need help right now."

There was a pause. Krista said, "I don't know, Mr. Johnson."

"No. No. It's not a s.e.x thing. I swear, no s.e.x. You guys are smart and ambitious," John said.

"Is that what you look for in a.s.sistants?" Krista asked.

"f.u.c.k, yes. Smartness, hipness, alertness, greed and speed."

Krista continued: "Is this how you normally hire a.s.sistants?"

"Nahhh. What I normally do is put ads in the paper advertis-ing Eames furniture at ridiculously low prices."

"That's that 1950s stuff, isn't it?" asked Cindy.

"Bingo. It's this furniture designed for poor people, but poorpeople never liked it, and the only people who know about it orcare about it are rich or smart. So anybody who answers that ad really quickly is de facto smart, alert, greedy and hip."

"What's Melody going to say?" asked Cindy.

"Mel has two ugly little brats I helped put through Dart-mouth and Neufchatel. She owes me."

"But then what about, say, the salary?"

"See-I was right. You're a little bit greedy," at which pointthe girls quickly huffed up and their spines straightened. "Re-lax. In the film business it's a compliment."

"So what do you want?" Cindy asked.

"Truth be told," John said, "the one thing in this world Iwant more than anything else is a great big crowbar, to jimmymyself open and take whatever creature that's sitting inside andshake it clean like a rug and then rinse it in a cold, clear lakelike up in Oregon, and then I want to put it under the sun tolet it heal and dry and grow and sit and come to consciousness again with a clear and quiet mind."

The CD player clicked and purred as it changed alb.u.ms, andCindy and Krista kept their bodies still.

Cindy said, "Okay. I'llwork for you."

Krista said, "Me, too. I'm in."

John said, "Good," and music came on, Edvard Grieg, a flute solo. "What's going to be your next move then-John?" askedKrista.

"I'm going to liquidate myself."

"Like going offsh.o.r.e or something? Taxes?" asked Cindy.

"No. I'm going to erase myself. I'm going to stop being me."John saw the look on the twins' faces, and it wasn't fear, butneither was it comprehension. "No. Not suicide. But suicide'scousin. I want to disappear."

"You've lost me," said Cindy.

"I'm going to start my own witness relocation program."

"Help us out here, John."

"It's easy. I don't want to be me anymore. I think I've gone as far as I can go in this body."

"In this body?"

"Yeah."

"Who gets your money?" Cindy asked.

"Probably the IRS."

"Who gets your residuals and your copyrights?"

"I don't know. Crack babies. Jerry's Kids. Something like that.That's a detail. Think of the bigger picture here."

He would be gone. Completely. He would no longer be JohnLodge Johnson. He would be-n.o.body-he would have nothing:no money, no name, no history, no future, no hungers-hewould merely be this sensate creature walking the country's burning freeways, its yawning malls, its gashes of wilderness, itslightning storms, its factories and its dead s.p.a.ces. "Ladies, myatom's stopped spinning. The twitching barnyard animal liessilent in a heap.The machine has stopped."

Cindy and Krista made ooh ... noises.

Two drinks later, John, Cindy and Krista were going throughJohn's house, with Cindy pushing a SmarteCarte and Kristaholding a clipboard on which she recorded each item Johntossed into a box on the cart, the contents bound for the localGoodwill drop box.

"DKNY blazer. Unworn. Charcoal."

"Check."

"Prada slacks, cocoa. Unworn."

"Check."

"Where'd you get a SmarteCarte?" Cindy asked.

"Stole it from SeaTac Airport up in Seattle. I've spent so muchon those G.o.dd.a.m.n things over the years-I put the Smarte-Carte children through beauty school. They owed me one after allthis time."

Cindy said, "You seem to put a lot of people through a lot ofthings, John."

The doorbell rang-it was his business partner, Ivan McClin-tock, with his wife, Nylla. John buzzed them in and called fromupstairs, Ivan and Nylla climbed a series of chilly aluminumslabs that led up to the bedrooms. "John-O?"

"We're in here, Ive."

The couple rounded a corner. "Guys, this is Krista and Cindy. Gals, this is Ivan and Nylla. Ivan and I have been making moviesever since we both had acne."

The group exchanged h.e.l.los, and the work of emptying John'swardrobes of conspicuously expensive clothing continued.

"See anything you want, Ivan?" John asked, holding out anest of ties.

Ivan was doing his best to keep his cool.

"Our styles are opposite, John-O. That's why we make agood team."Nylla, pregnant and wrapped in one of her trademark silkshawls, asked, "John, Melody called Ivan at work and then me athome. She said you were making plans to-." She paused. "Eraseyourself or something. Something radical."

John was silent.

Nylla persevered. "So what's the score?"

A TV-sized Tiffany box full of enema tools clattered downfrom an upper shelf, bouncing on the sisal flooring and rattlingonto the white limestone hallway. "Why don't we go down-stairs?" John said to Ivan and Nylla.

From the landing, he shouted back, "Remember gals-everything goes."

They went into the living room. It was night outside. Ivanand Nylla drank in the view. "I never get tired of looking at thecity, John-O. It's like we're flying over it, about to land at LAX."

"It's like upside-down stars," said Nylla.

John handed Ivan a scotch with branch water. Nylla tookcranberry juice.

Ivan said, "Melody phoned. She told me about your namechange application."

"She narcked?"

Nylla said, "Oh, don't be so corny. Of course she did. She'sworried sick about you. We all are."

Ivan burst in. "Fortunately between me and Mel we have enough contacts at City Hall to retrieve your forms, no harmdone."

"John," said Nylla, "You were going to change your nameto'dot'?"

"Not 'dot'-just a simple period. When I filed my Change ofName affidavit at City Hall, they told me I had to use at least onekeyboard stroke. A period is the smallest amount of ink ands.p.a.ce a name can be."

Ivan put his drink on a gla.s.s-block table and made I-told-you-so eyes at Nylla.

"There's more, Ivan. I'm going to renounce my citizenship."

"Oh, John-O, that is a lousy idea-it's-it's-un-American."

"What country do you want to be a citizen of, then?" asked Nylla. The three sat themselves down on Ultrasuede couches inJohn's high-tech conversation pit. John clapped his hands andthe fire started.

"I don't want to be a citizen of anywhere, Ny."

"Can you do that?" she asked. "I mean, be a citizen ofnowhere?"

"I don't know. I'm seeing an immigration lawyer tomorrow.I'm wondering if I can get citizenship in Antarctica."

"Antarctica?" said Ivan.

"Yeah. It's not like it has a king or queen or president or any-thing. I want to give it a try."

" I think Antarctica's presliced into pieces from the South Poleoutward," said Nylla, "and a different country regulates eachslice. So maybe not there. Maybe you can get citizenship in acountry that's so useless it's almost the same thing as beingstateless. Some country that only exists when the tide's out."

"Nylla," Ivan interrupted, "you're only feeding his bull-s.h.i.t idea."

"It's not bulls.h.i.t, Ivan," John said.

"How about Pitcairn Island?" Nylla suggested. "One square mile in the middle of the South Pacific Ocean, the most remoteinhabited place on earth."

"My wife the Jeopardy champion."

"England owns it," said John. "I checked."

Ivan asked listlessly, "How about one of those African coun-tries held together with Scotch tape and Popsicle sticks?"

"I'm considering them, too.""John-O-if you renounce your U.S. citizenship, you'll have no protection.

With citizenship, the U.S. government can step in and help you wherever you go. And besides, you'll always haveyour Social Security number no matter what else happens."

"Not if I renounce my citizenship. I do know that."

Ivan was sulky: "just try renting a car with no credit card anda pa.s.sport from Upper Volta."

"It's called Benin now," said Nylla.

Ivan glowered her way: "Please phrase your answer in theform of a question."

"Ivan, you're getting distracted. You're missing the spirit ofthe thing. I won't be wonting to rent cars anymore. I'll be com-pletely gone."

"You're really pushing me with this new hobo kick, John-O.Sleeping in rain culverts and stealing fresh clothes from laundry lines is going to wear thin awful quickly."

"Ivan, let me pitch it to you: This is the road we're talkingabout-the romance of the road. Strange new friends. Adven-tures every ten minutes. Waking up each morning feeling like awild animal. No c.r.a.ppy rules or smothering obligations."

Ivan was appalled. "The road is over, John-O. It never even was.You're thinking like a kid behind a Starbucks counter sneakingpeeks at his Kerouac paperback and writing 'That's so true!' inthe margins.

And if nothing else, Doris is freaked out by thistotally."