that you think I am.'
'You are.'
'That's your story,' she said, 'and you stick to it. You know that story about Pinocchio? The girl sits on his face and says, 'Lie to me, lie to me.' '
'When did I ever lie to you?'
'Ah, baby,' she said, 'I figured it'd be fun to do this, and I knew it was going to happen one of these days, but who would have guessed we'd be so hot for each other?'
'I know.'
'When was the last time we were together like this? The last time you were over here was three years ago, but we didn't go to bed then.'
'No, it was a few years before then.'
'So it could have been seven years ago?'
'Maybe even eight.'
'Well, that explains it. The cells in your body change completely every seven years. Isn't that what they say?'
'That's what they say.'
'So your cells and my cells had never met before. I never understood that, the cells changing every seven years. What the hell does it mean? If you get a scar you've still got it several years later.'
'Or a tattoo. The cells change but the ink stays between them.'
'How does it know how to do that?'
'I don't know.'
'That's what I can't figure out. How does it know? You don't have any tattoos, do you?'
'No.'
'And you call yourself an alcoholic. Isn't that when people get them, when they're tanked?'
'Well, it never struck me as the reasoned act of a sober man.'
'No, I wouldn't think so. I read somewhere that a high percentage of murderers are heavily tattooed.
Have you ever heard that?'
'It sounds familiar.'
'I wonder why that would be. Something to do with self-image?'
'Maybe.'
'Did Motley have any?'
'Self-image?'
'Tattoos, you dimwit.'
'Sorry. Did he have any tattoos? I don't remember. You ought to know, you saw more of his body than I did.'
'Thanks for reminding me. I don't remember any tattoos. He had scars on his back. Did I tell you about that?'
'Not that I remember.'
'Bands of scar tissue across his back. He was probably physically abused in childhood.'
'It happens.'
'Uh-huh. Are you sleepy?'
'Sort of.'
'And I'm not letting you doze off. That's the thing about fucking, it wakes women up and puts men to sleep. You're an old bear and I won't let you hibernate.'
'Ummmmm.'
'I'm glad you don't have any tattoos. I'll let you alone now. Good night, baby.'
I slept, and sometime during the night I awoke. I was dreaming, and then the dream had slipped away beyond recall and I was awake.
Her body was drawn close to mine and I could feel her heat, and I was breathing her smell. I ran a hand along her flank, feeling the wonderful smoothness of her skin, and the suddenness of my own physical response surprised me.
I filled my hands with her and stroked her, and after a moment she made a sound not unlike a cat's purr and rolled onto her back, shifting to accommodate me. I eased onto her and into her and our bodies found their rhythm and labored together, endlessly rocking.
Afterward she laughed softly, in the darkness. I asked her what was so funny.
' 'Repeatedly,' ' she said.
