Lydia met me at the airport. She was horny as usual. “Jesus Christ,” she said. “I’m hot! I play with myself but it doesn’t do any good.”

We were driving back to my place.

“Lydia, my leg is still in terrible shape. I just don’t know if I can handle it with this leg.”

“What?”

“It’s true. I don’t think I can fuck with my leg the way it is.”

“What the hell good are you then?”

“Well, I can fry eggs and do magic tricks.”

“Don’t be funny. I’m asking you, what the hellgood are you?”

“The leg will heal. If it doesn’t they’ll cut if off. Be patient.”

“If you hadn’t been drunk you wouldn’t have fallen and cut your leg. It’s always the bottle!”

“It’s not always the bottle, Lydia. We fuck about 4 times a week. For my age that’s pretty good." “Sometimes I think you don’t even enjoy it.”

“Lydia, sex isn’t everything! You are obsessed. For Christ’s sake, give it a rest.”

“A rest until your leg heals? How am I going to make it meanwhile?”

“I’ll play Scrabble with you.”

Lydia screamed. The car began to swerve all over the street. “YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH! I’LL KILL YOU!”

She crossed the double yellow line at high speed, directly into oncoming traffic. Horns sounded and cars scattered. We drove on against the flow of traffic, cars approaching us peeling off to the left and right. Then just as abruptly Lydia swerved back across the double line into the lane we had just vacated.

Where are the police? I thought. Why is it that when Lydia does something the police become nonexistent?

“All right,” she said. “I’m taking you home and that’s it. I’ve had it. I’m going to sell my house and move to Phoenix. Glen– doline lives in Phoenix now. My sisters warned me about living with an old fuck like you.”

We drove the remainder of the way without talking. When we reached my place I took out my suitcase, looked at Lydia, said, “Goodbye.” She was crying without making a sound, her whole face was wet. Suddenly she drove off toward Western Avenue. I walked into the court. Back from another reading. . . .

I checked the mail and then phoned Katherine who lived in Austin, Texas. She seemed truly glad to hear from me, and it was good to hear that Texas accent, that high laughter. I told her that I wanted her to come visit me, that I’d pay air fare both ways. We’d go to the racetrack, we’d go to Malibu, we’d . . . whatever she wanted.

“But, Hank, don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“No, none. I’m a recluse.”

“But you’re always writing about women in your poems.”

“That’s past. This is present.”

“But what about Lydia?”

“Lydia?”

“Yes, you told me all about her.”

“What did I tell you?”

“You told me how she beat up two other women. Would you let her beat me up? I’m not very big, you know.”

“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.