Lydia and I were always fighting. She was a flirt and it irritated me. When we ate out I was sure she was eyeballing some man across the room. When my male friends came by to visit and Lydia was there I could hear her conversation become intimate and sexual. She always sat very close to my friends, positioning herself as near them as possible. It was my drinking that irritated Lydia. She loved sex and my drinking got in the way of our lovemaking. “Either you’re too drunk to do it at night or too sick to do it in the morning,” she’d say. Lydia would go into a rage if I even drank a bottle of beer in front of her. We split up at least once a week—"Forever"—but always managed to make up, somehow. She had finished sculpting my head and had given it to me. When we’d split I’d put the head in my car next to me on the front seat, drive it over to her place and leave it outside her door on the porch. Then I’d go to a phone booth, ring hervup and say, “Your goddamned head is outside the door!” That head went back and forth. . . .

We had just split again and I had dropped off the head. I was drinking, a free man again. I had a young friend, Bobby, a rather bland kid who worked in a porno bookstore and was a photographer on the side. He lived a couple of blocks away. Bobby was having trouble with himself and with his wife, Valerie. He phoned one evening and said he was bringing Valerie over to stay the night with me. It sounded fine. Valerie was 22, absolutely lovely, with long blond hair, mad blue eyes and a beautiful body. Like Lydia, she had also spent some time in a madhouse. After a while I heard them drive up on the lawn in front of my court. Valerie got out. I remembered Bobby telling me that when he first introduced Valerie to his parents they had commented on her dress—that they liked it very much—and she had said, “Yeah, well how about the rest of me?” She had pulled her dress up over her hips. And didn’t have any panties on.

Valerie knocked. I heard Bobby drive off. I let her in. She looked fine. I poured two scotch and waters. Neither of us spoke. We drank those and I poured two more. After that I said, “Come on, let’s make a bar.” We got into my car. The Glue Machine was right around the corner. I had been 86'd earlier that week but nothing was said when we walked in. We got a table and ordered drinks. We still didn’t talk. I just looked into those mad blue eyes. We were sitting side by side and I kissed her. Her mouth was cool and open. I kissed her again and our legs pressed together. Bobby had a nice wife. Bobby was crazy to pass her around.

We decided on dinner. We each ordered a steak and we drank and we kissed while we waited. The barmaid said, “Oh, you’re in love!” and we both laughed. When the steaks came Valerie said, “I don’t want to eat mine.” “I don’t want to eat mine either,” I said.

We drank for another hour and then decided to go back to my place. As I drove the car up on the front lawn I saw a woman in the driveway. It was Lydia. She had an envelope in her hand. I got out of the car with Valerie and Lydia looked at us. “Who’s that?” asked Valerie. “The woman I love,” I told her.

“Who’s the bitch?” screamed Lydia.

Valerie turned and ran down the sidewalk. I could hear her high heels on the pavement. “Come on in,” I told Lydia. She followed me in.

“I came here to give this letter to you and it looks like I came at the right time. Who was she?” “Bobby’s wife. We’re just friends.”

“You were going to fuck her, weren’t you?”

“Now look, I told her I love you.”

“You were going to fuck her, weren’t you?” “Now look, baby ...”

Suddenly she shoved me. I was standing in front of the coffee table which was in front of the couch. I fell backward over the coffee table and into the space between the table and the couch. I heard the door slam. And as I got up I heard the engine of Lydia’s car start. Then she drove off.

Son-of-a-bitch, I thought, one minute I’ve got two women and the next I’ve got none.