We had a 3:30 pm flight out of Los Angeles that Saturday. At 2 pm I went up and knocked on Tammie’s door. She wasn’t there. I want back to my place and sat down. The phone rang. It was Tammie. “Look,” I said, “we have to think about leaving. I have people meeting me at Kennedy airport. Where are you?”

“I’m $6 short on a prescription. I’m getting some Quaaludes.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m just below Santa Monica Boulevard and Western, about a block. It’s an Owl drugstore. You can’t miss it.”

I hung up, got into the Volks and drove over. I parked a block below Santa Monica and Western, got out and looked around. There was no pharmacy.

I got back in the Volks and drove along looking for her red Camaro. Then I saw it, five blocks further down. I parked and walked in. Tammie was sitting in a chair. Dancy ran up and made a face at me.

“We can’t take the kid.”

“I know. We’ll drop her off over at my mother’s.” "Your mother’s? That’s 3 miles the other way." “It’s on the way to the airport.”

“No, it’s in the other direction.”

“Do you have the 6 bucks?”

I gave Tammie the six.

“I’ll see you back at your place. You packed?” “Yes, I’m ready.”

I drove back and waited. Then I heard them. “Mommy!” Dancy said, “I want a Ding-Dong!”

They went up the stairs. I waited for them to come down. They didn’t come down. I went up. Tammie was packed, but she was down on her knees zipping and unzipping her baggage.

“Look,” I said, “I’ll carry your other stuff down to the car.”

She had two large paper shopping bags, stuffed, and three dresses on hangers. All this besides her luggage.

I took the shopping bags and the dresses down to the Volks. When I came back she was still zipping and unzipping her luggage.

“Tammie, let’s go.” “Wait a minute.”

She knelt there running the zipper back and forth, up and down. She didn’t look into the baggage. She just ran the zipper up and down.

“Mommy,” said Dancy, “I want a Ding-Dong.” “Come on, Tammie, let’s go.”

“Oh, all right.”

I picked up the zipper bag and they followed me out.

I followed her battered red Camaro to her mother’s place. We went in. Tammie stood at her mother’s dresser and started pulling drawers out, in and out. Each time she pulled a drawer out she reached in and mixed everything up. Then she’d slam the drawer and go to the next. Same thing.

“Tammie, the plane is ready to take off.”

“Oh no, we’ve got plenty of time. I hate hanging around airports.”

“What are you going to do about Dancy?”

“I’m going to leave her here until Mother gets home from work.”

Dancy let out a wail. Finally she knew, and she wailed, and the tears ran, and then she stopped, balled her fists and screamed, “I WANT A DING-DONG!”

“Listen, Tammie, I’ll be waiting in the car.”

I went out and waited. I waited five minutes then went back in. Tammie was still sliding the drawers in and out.

“Please, Tammie, let’s leave!” “All right.”

She turned to Dancy. “Look, you stay here until Grandma gets home. Keep the door locked and don’t Jet anybody in but Grandma!”

Dancy wailed again. Then she screamed, “I HATE YOU!”

Tammie followed me and we got into the Volks. I started the engine. She opened the door and was gone. “I HAVE TO GET SOMETHING OUT OF MY CAR!”

Tammie ran over to the Camaro. “Oh shit, I locked it and I don’t have the key for the door! Do you have a coat hanger?”

“No,” I screamed, “I don’t have a coat hanger!”

“Be right back!”

Tammie ran back to her mother’s apartment. I heard the door open. Dancy wailed and shouted. Then I heard the door slam and Tammie returned with a coat hanger. She went to the Camaro and jimmied the door.

I walked over to her car. Tammie had climbed into the back seat and was going through that incredible mess—clothing, paper bags, paper cups, newspapers, beer bottles, empty cartons—piled in there. Then she found it: her camera, the Polaroid I had given her for her birthday.

As I drove along, racing the Volks like I was out to win the 500, Tammie leaned over. “You really love me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“When we get to New York I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before!” “You mean it?”

“Yes.”

She grabbed my cock and leaned against me.

My first and only redhead. I was lucky. . . .