They had drinks at Jose Murphy's, a Pacific Beach club as schizophrenic as its name, and between listening to a band and watching other people dance, they talked. Sharon asked more questions than he did, and Am wondered if she was that curious or whether it was a defense mechanism. She inquired of the loves in his life, and Am explained how he hadn't really dated for six months, but that the time alone had been good for him. Until the breakups, he had been preoccupied.
Breakups?
Almost apologetically, he explained he had been dating two women at the same time. “It wasn't planned,” he said. “It just sort of happened. One was eight years older than I am, and the other ten years younger. The older one liked staying at home, and playing Scrabble, and going for quiet walks, while the younger preferred night life, and dancing, and a faster lane.”
“So what happened?”
“I went bald,” said Am.
Sharon pointedly scrutinized his full head of wavy hair, then questioned him with a look.
“Not literally, just mentally. I relived the Aesop's fable of the red-haired man with two mistresses, the one older and the other younger. When he was with the older one she plucked out his red hairs, while the younger one pulled out his gray hairs. They plucked and plucked until he went bald.”
“A hair-raising story,” she said. “It must have been terrible having two women fawn over you. What's next? Triplets? And since they'd all be the same age, you wouldn't have to worry about going bald.”
“I'm not looking for triplets,” Am said, “and it wasn't a case of losing hairs. I just didn't lose my head to either one of them.”
His eyes demanded hers, and his message was this: You, I could lose my head to you. And she didn't immediately look away.
They drove back to the Hotel, Am playing tour guide along the way, describing the names of various beaches and the lore associated with them. They parked Annette near Children's Cove and stopped to look for sea lions on Seal Rock; but they didn't see any. The moon was full, and there was a hint of coastal sage in the air. Everywhere there seemed to be something Am wanted to show her: the caves around La Jolla Cove where opium smugglers used to store their wares; the remains of Alligator Head, a rock landmark whose jaws had been taken years back by a storm; the crumbling edifices of “Red Roost” and “Red Rest,” reminders of the days in La Jolla when all homes had been identified by names and not street numbers, a practice the U.S. postmaster put a stop to.
They watched the activity at La Jolla Cove, three scuba divers going out for a night dive, and marked their progress by their luminescent green lights. Unsaid, but between them, was the feeling that they too were venturing forward into new depths. They slowly retraced their way along the path, detouring for a time with their shoes off to amble in the grass of Scripps Park, before finally returning to their footwear and the trail. The strong sound of the surf reminded Am of yet another landmark. “Boomer Beach,” he said. “When the surf is up, it really booms.”
The pounding of the ocean stopped them. They stood close to one another, could feel the impact of the torrents of water. It wasn’t a scene out of From Here to Eternity, but they found themselves holding each other, and kissing, and coming up for breath.
Sharon finally broke away. “Am—orous,” she said. “That must be the secret of your nickname.”
“No,” he said.
“Am I getting close?”
“It depends.” His lips moved near hers, but she wasn’t about to be put off—that, or she thought their kissing had gone far enough.
“Give me a hint.”
Her single-mindedness was both beguiling and frustrating. “I earned it on the job.”
“That’s not much of a hint.”
They started walking again. Sharon worked at wangling more information, but Am was closemouthed. When they got back to the car neither was quite satisfied with the other. In silence they drove back to the Hotel. Am found a spot next to her car, but good nights didn’t immediately follow. By mutual signal they reached for the other and began to kiss once again. Their breathing became short, their flesh warm and sensitive. Again Sharon broke their contact.
“No more, Am—ore,” she said, a guess and a plea in her statement.
“I have protection,” he said.
“As we know only too well,” she said, “condoms break.” Then she kissed him on the cheek, patted Annette’s upholstery good night, and stepped out of the car. “I had a wonderful time,” she said.
“The night’s still young,” he said, but she laughed. He waited until she drove off, and still he sat. He needed to cool down, but even more than that, there were lots of things to think about. Oddly, her statement kept playing in his mind. Condoms break. That was obvious, wasn’t it? But it was something he hadn’t thought of. Tim Kelly, the guest who had checked out the hard way, returned to his thoughts. Am decided a talk with the night auditor, and night security, was in order. He wanted to see if a theory of his held water. The notion was a little crazy, but it was something he felt compelled to check into.
It was another two hours before he got home. Am’s curiosity might not have killed him, but he was damn tired. As he turned onto Coast Boulevard, the signal lights from the train tracks started flashing, and the barriers moved into place. Freight train, he thought. Too late for the passenger trains. Fighting off sleep, he waited until the train passed by. His hobo spirit was willing, but his flesh was weak. Someday, he thought, yawning, I’ll hop aboard. I’ll travel north, with stops in Oceanside, and San Clemente, San Juan Capistrano, and sometimes Irvine…
He parked Annette in her garage.
…and Santa Ana, and Anaheim, and Fullerton, and Los Angeles…
Almost sleepwalking, he found his way to his bed.
…and with continuing service on to Glendale, Van Nuys, Chatsworth, Simi Valley, Oxnard, Ventura, and, and…
The train stops worked better than sheep. He fell asleep before running out of them.