"It can't happen. She's moved to Phoenix. I tell you, Katherine, you are the exceptional woman I've been looking for. Please, trust me."

"I'll have to make arrangements. I have to get somebody to take care of my cat."

"All right. But I want you to know that everything is clear here."

"But, Hank, don't forget what you told me about your women."

"Told you what?"

"You said, 'They always come back.'"

"That's just macho talk."

"I'll come," she said. "As soon as I get things straight here I'll make a reservation and let you know the details."

When I was in Texas Katherine had told me about her life. I was only the third man she had slept with. There had been her husband, an alcoholic track star, and me. Her ex-husband, Arnold, was into show business and the arts in some way. Exactly how it worked I didn't know. He was continually signing contracts with rock stars, painters and so forth. The business was $60,000 in debt, but flourishing. One of those situations where the further you were in debt the better off you were.

I don't know what happened to the track star. He just ran off, I guess. And then Arnold got on coke. The coke changed him overnight. Katherine said she didn't know him anymore. It was terrifying. Ambulance trips to hospitals. And then he'd be back at the office the next morning as if nothing had happened. Then Joanna Dover entered the picture. A tall, stately semi-millionairess. Educated and crazy. She and Arnold began to do business together. Joanna Dover dealt in the arts like some people deal in corn futures. She discovered unknown artists on the way up, bought their work cheap, and sold high after they became recognized. She had that kind of eye. And a magnificent 6-foot body. She began to see a lot of Arnold. One evening Joanna came to pick up Arnold dressed in an expensive tight-fitting gown. Then Katherine knew that Joanna really meant business. So, after that, she went along whenever Arnold and Joanna would go out. They were a trio. Arnold had a very low sex drive, so Katherine wasn't worried about that. She was worried about the business. Then Joanna dropped out of the picture, and Arnold got more and more into coke. More and more ambulance trips. Katherine finally divorced him. She still saw Arnold, however. She took coffee to the office at 10:30 every morning for the staff and Arnold put her on the payroll. Which enabled her to keep the house. She and Arnold had dinner there now and then, but no sex. Still, he needed her, she felt protective towards him. Katherine also believed in health foods and the only meat she ate was chicken and fish. She was a beautiful woman.

33.

Within a day or two, about 1 pm in the afternoon there was a knock at my door. It was a painter, Monty Riff, or so he informed me. He also told me that I used to get drunk with him when I lived on DeLongpre Avenue.

"I don't remember you," I said.

"Dee Dee used to bring me over."

"Oh yeah? Well, come on in." Monty had a 6-pack with him and a tall stately woman.

"This is Joanna Dover," he introduced me to her.

"I missed your reading in Houston," she said.

"Laura Stanley told me all about you," I said.

"You know her?"

"Yes. But I've renamed her Katherine, after Katherine Hepburn."

"You really know her?"

"Fairly well."

"How well?"

"She's flying out to visit me in a day or two."

"Really?"

"Yes."

We finished the 6-pack and I left to go get some more. When I got back Monty was gone. Joanna told me that he had an appointment. We got to talking about painting and I brought out some of mine. She looked at them and decided that she'd like to buy two of them. "How much?" she asked.

"Well, $40 for the small one and $60 for the large one."

Joanna wrote me out a check for $100. Then she said, "I want you to live with me."

"What? This is pretty sudden."

"It would pay off. I have some money. Just don't ask me how much. I've been thinking of some reasons why we should live together. Do you want to hear them?"

"No."

"One thing, if we lived together I'd take you to Paris."

"I hate to travel."

"I'd show you a Paris you'd really like."

"Let me think it over."

I leaned over and gave her a kiss. Then I kissed her again, this time a little longer.

"Shit," I said, "let's go to bed."

"All right," said Joanna Dover.

We undressed and climbed in. She was 6 feet tall. I'd always had small women. It was strange--every place I reached there seemed to be more woman. We warmed up. I gave her 3 or 4 minutes of oral sex, then mounted. She was good, she was really good. We cleaned up, got dressed and then she took me to dinner in Malibu. She told me she lived in Galveston, Texas. She gave me her phone number, the address and told me to come and see her. I told her that I would. She told me that she was serious about Paris and the rest. It had been a good fuck and the dinner was excellent too.

34.

The next day Katherine phoned me. She said she had the tickets and would be landing at L.A. International Friday at 2:30 pm.

"Katherine," I said, "there's something I've got to tell you."

"Hank, don't you want to see me?"

"I want to see you more than anybody I know."

"Then what is it?"

"Well, you know Joanna Dover ..."

"Joanna Dover?"

"The one . . . you know . . . your husband ..."

"What about her, Hank?"

"Well, she came to see me."

"You mean she came to your place?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

"We talked. She bought two of my paintings."

"Anything else happen?"

"Yeah."

Katherine was quiet. Then she said, "Hank, I don't know if I want to see you now."

"I understand. Look, why don't you think it over and call me back? I'm sorry, Katherine. I'm sorry it happened. That's all I can say."

She hung up. She won't phone back, I thought. The best woman I ever met and I blew it. I deserve defeat, I deserve to die alone in a madhouse.

I sat by the telephone. I read the newspaper, the sports section, the financial section, the funny papers. The phone rang. It was Katherine. "FUCK Joanna Dover!" she laughed. I'd never heard Katherine swear like that before.

"Then you're coming?"

"Yes. Do you have the arrival time?"

"I have it all. I'll be there."

We said goodbye. Katherine was coming, she was coming for at least a week with that face, that body, that hair, those eyes, that laugh. . . .

35.

I came out of the bar and checked the message board. The plane was on time. Katherine was in the air and moving towards me. I sat down and waited. Across from me was a well-groomed woman reading a paperback. Her dress was up around her thighs, showing all that flank, that leg wrapped in nylon. Why did she insist on doing that? I had a newspaper, and I looked over the top, up her dress. She had great thighs. Who was getting those thighs? I felt foolish staring up her dress, but I couldn't help myself. She was built. Once she had been a little girl, someday she would be dead, but now she was showing me her upper legs. The goddamned strumpet, I'd give her a hundred strokes, I'd give her 7-and-one-half inches of throbbing purple! She crossed her legs and her dress inched higher. She looked up from her paperback. Her eyes looked into mine as I watched over the top of the newspaper. Her expression was indifferent. She reached into her purse and took out a stick of gum, took the wrapper off and put the gum in her mouth. Green gum. She chewed on the green gum and I watched her mouth. She didn't pull her skirt down. She knew that I was looking. There was nothing I could do. I opened my wallet and took out 2 fifty dollar bills. She looked up, saw the bills, looked back down. Then a fat man plopped down next to me. His face was very red and he had a massive nose. He was dressed in a jumpsuit, a light brown jumpsuit. He farted. The lady pulled her dress down and I put the bills back in my wallet. My cock softened and I got up and went to the drinking fountain.

Out in the landing area Katherine's plane was taxiing toward the ramp. I stood and waited. Katherine, I adore you.

Katherine walked off the ramp, perfect, with red-brown hair, slim body, a blue dress clinging as she walked, white shoes, slim, neat ankles, youth. She wore a white hat with a wide brim, the brim turned down just right. Her eyes looked out from under the brim, large and brown and laughing. She had class. She'd never show her ass in an airport waiting area.

And there I was, 225 pounds, perpetually lost and confused, short legs, ape-like upper body, all chest, no neck, head too large, blurred eyes, hair uncombed, 6 feet of geek, waiting for her.

Katherine moved toward me. That long clean red-brown hair. Texas women were so relaxed, so natural. I gave her a kiss and asked about her baggage. I suggested a stop at the bar. The waitresses had on short red dresses that showed their ruffled white panties. The necklines of their dresses were cut low to show their breasts. They earned their salaries, they earned their tips, every cent. They lived in the suburbs and they hated men. They lived with their mothers and brothers and were in love with their psychiatrists.

We finished our drinks and went to get Katherine's baggage. A number of men tried to catch her eye, but she walked close by my side, holding my arm. Few beautiful women were willing to indicate in public that they belonged to someone. I had known enough women to realize this. I accepted them for what they were, and love came hard and very seldom. When it did it was usually for the wrong reasons. One simply became tired of holding love back and let it go because it needed some place to go. Then usually, there was trouble.

At my place Katherine opened her suitcase and took out a pair of rubber gloves. She laughed.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Darlene--my best friend--she saw me packing and she said, 'What the hell are you doing?' And I said, I've never seen Hank's place, but I know that before I can cook in it and live in it and sleep in it I've got to clean it up!'"

Then Katherine gave off that happy Texas laugh. She went into the bathroom and put on a pair of bluejeans and an orange blouse, came out barefooted and went into the kitchen with her rubber gloves.

I went into the bathroom and changed clothes also. I decided that if Lydia came by I'd never let her touch Katherine. Lydia? Where was she? What was she doing?

I sent up a little prayer to the gods who watched over me: please keep Lydia away. Let her suck on the horns of cowboys and dance until 3 am--but please keep her away. . . .

When I came out Katherine was on her knees scrubbing at two years' worth of grease on my kitchen floor.

"Katherine," I said, "let's go out on the town. Let's go have dinner. This is no way to begin."

"All right, Hank, but I've got to finish this floor first. Then we'll go."

I sat and waited. Then she came out and I was sitting in a chair, waiting. She bent over and kissed me, laughing, "You are a dirty old man!" Then she walked into the bedroom. I was in love again, I was in trouble. . . .

36.

After dinner we came back and we talked. She was a health food addict and didn't eat meat except for chicken and fish. It certainly worked for her.

"Hank," she said, "tomorrow I'm going to clean your bathroom."

"All right," I said over my drink.

"And I must do my exercises every day. Will that bother you?"

"No, no."