[Clinton’s Notebook]

Did not think about B-B for more than an hour. Must figure this out. We have been singing songs here, songs for ghosts. There is much to tell about. And trouble. The girl is crying. I don’t know what to do. I’m hungry. Must find Berry-berry.

He stopped writing, and listened. Shirley, in the bathroom, was trying to stifle the sounds of her weeping. Clinton stepped quickly into his trousers and stood outside the bathroom door.

“Can I come in, Shirley?”

“No.”

“Shirley, I want to tell you something. Can you hear me?”

“Go away!”

She turned on the water faucets. Clinton raised his voice above them: “Shirley, you look very pretty in lavender, do you know that? It’s the first thing a person notices about you. I really mean it, too, not just because you’re crying either.” There was no answer. He could hear nothing but the sound of running water. “Shirley, can you hear me?”

At length, the door opened. Shirley entered the room, drying her face with a towel. She was frowning, and the skin surrounding her eyes was puffed and inflamed.

“You okay?” Clinton said.

She looked at him as if she had never seen him before. “What’s your name, anyway?” she said. Her voice was lower, almost husky; and coarse.

Clinton smiled at her. “Don’t you know?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to play the Willy game any more. I mean your real name. You don’t have to tell me, of course. I don’t really care.”

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s Clint. I told you last night.”

“Oh. Well, thanks. Thanks for tellin’ me about lavender, too. It dudden work in the mornings though. But thanks.” She went to the bed and turned back the spread. “I took my pill, so maybe you better go now.”

“What pill?”

“Sleeping pill. So now’s your chance to scoot. You want to go, don’t you?”

“I got to try to find my brother.”

“Yeah, I know. Berry-berry.” She opened her pocketbook and searched inside of it. “I got something for you.” In her search, she came across a mirror, and glanced into it, briefly, displeased with what it presented. “Christ,” she said, “I ought to have my butt kicked, foolin’ with a kid your age.” Then she dug into the purse once again. “Where’d that damn thing get to?”

“What you lookin’ for?”

“Newspaper clipping. About your brother. He’s prob’ly not even in the State of Florida any more.”

“How do you know?”

” ‘Cause he left town the day after he stabbed my girl friend.” She handed him the clipping. “Here, if you don’t believe me. Advertiser wrote the whole thing up last Thursday. It don’t give his name, but take my word.”

Clinton sat on the edge of the bed and read the clipping:

GIRL SUFFERS STAB WOUNDS

A girl staggered into the Kit-Kat Bar and Grill, 122 San Lucia St., at 2:30 A.M. yesterday and, according to the police report, fell on the floor bleeding from knife wounds.