now look, she said, stretched out on the bed, I don’t want
        anything
personal, let’s just do it, I don’t want to get involved, got
it?

she kicked off her high-heeled shoes . . .
sure, he said, standing there, let’s just pretend that we’ve
already done it, there’s nothing less involved than that, is
there?

what the hell do you mean? she asked.

I mean, he said, I’d rather drink
anyhow.

and he poured himself one.

it was a lousy night in Vegas and he walked to the window
        and
looked out at the dumb lights.

you a fag? she asked, you a god damned
fag?

no, he said.you don’t have to get shitty, she said, just because you lost at
the tables—we drove all the way here to have a good time and
now look at you: sucking at that booze, you coulda done that
        in
L.A.!
right, he said, one thing I do like to get involved with is the
fucking bottle.

I want you to take me home, she said.

my pleasure, he said, let’s
go.


it was one of those times where nothing was lost because        
        nothing 
had ever been found and as she got dressed it was sad for
him
not because of him and the lady but because of all the millions
like him and the lady
as the lights blinked out there, everything so effort-
lessly false.

she was ready, fast: let’s get the hell out of here, she
said.

right, he said, and they walked out the door together.