headlights far away on another road. A red Barn. Stone wall above a sunken field. Hides of cows grazing in the night. Use a glass of milk with this cake beside me. Branches bending over the road, grey upturned leaves in the headlights. Monstrous purring engine whispering under this long black hood charging through the dark. Toting this peach, strawberry and cream. My delirious appetite.
"All the best steak I bought him. Perfect report on his three medical checkups. Never even had worms. Could have shown him in the dog show."
"Mustn't dwell on it Miss Tomson. You look terribly good tonight."
"You really mean it Smith. Do I look O.K."
"You do. There's a road house. Let's stop. Get you a drink."
First few fat drops of rain. Speckling the steps up to a porch under a neon sign. Jerry's Night Spot. Dark interior. Smith tripping over legs, leading Miss Tomson to the dim bar. White coated bar tender, eyes full of I know more than you think. Here come two pupils.
"What'll it be."
"Scotch for me Smith."
"Two scotch."
"Rightio."
"Smith you look kind of handsome. Wish it wasn't that my dog gets killed just when I see you out of the blue again. You made the papers, even. How are you doing with your enemies."
"They have vowed to get me. I will escape by submarine."
"Ha ha."
"Good to see you laugh again, Miss Tomson."
Smith surveying her in the faint light. Not so sad now. Lanky arms nearly to her knees. Hair a blond blowable softness. Cool long fingers of her hand. Must touch so lightly the dashboard of her car, quietly lit panorama of switches, clocks and dials. My little dog I owned had big brown spots on the lids when he closed his eyes. Never cried when he died. Bonniface back in Pomfret. Paralysis in his extremities. Upheaval in the keester. I steal away north and east under the aristocratic weeping rain. With thick wads of fresh treasury bills clutched under the armpits. Looking for homecooked food. While building a little empire. House in the country. Flat in town. Retreats in the woods. Sultry with peace and other things. Thank you spider.
"Smith do you get any letters anymore."
Smith extracts an envelope. Handing it to Miss Tom-son. Who holds it up in the purple tinted light. A yellow paper, address embossed in red.
Eel Street
Easter
(There is no time like the present)
George Smith,
c/o The Game dub
South Park Side
Dear Sir,
It has come to our attention that you would wish to wrestle. We are not without strength. But rather we would wish you wasn't to insist to a grapple. We hope you will forget you thought you was able to take on anybody.
We remain not kidding,
A. M. D. C.
(For The Committee)
"Very interesting. Have you answered itff
"No."
"Tell them Smith you're a mountain girl and not a guy at all. And hope they're gentlemen and supply chaperones. A debutante. And when you wrestle reporters might be watching. These initials be a name like Al Moygrain Diltor Cranzgot. Ask him if he wants to try some thigh trembling. Sign your letter, the knee."
"Miss Tomson, wish you still were working for me."
"I know, it's sad."
"You take the horror away."
"But now Smith. Your picture and write up in the papers. Made you kind of famous. Take the pressure off. I mean they worry a little more about giving you a pair of cement shoes to walk across the river with. Down there in the mud people would wonder where you are."
Miss Tomson handing the letter back to Smith. Giving the paper one final flick with her long nail. You know Smith I got something to tell you but not now. Smith sneaking a look at his present shoes. And up again at her face. As she stares into her drink. Twisting it. Cubes of ice spinning around. Rocking and clinking on the tall sides of the glass. Seemed blue shadows round her large eyes. Go back to get Miss Martin. Or Bonniface. Never. Sniff the wheat drifting up through soda bubbles. This Miss Tomson. God was cruel to make just one of her.
"Smith, this true you putting up a memorial to yourself. Isn't that kind of conceited. And expensive. What's the point. What does it matter what happens when you die."
"It matters all the days you live, Miss Tomson."
"Looking at you Smith like this you're a strange one."
"What would make you happy, Miss Tomson."
"A guy with a large soul. Not the small sneaky rats careening around these days. You got some more grey hairs Smith. Why