“My new girlfriend is black,” Deschutes was saying. “Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Her name is Harmony. She’s got a big singing voice and a certification in music therapy. Her daughter’s name is Sierra. That’s who the T-shirt’s for. She loves princesses even though her mom tells her not to believe in them.” He paused again, considered the painting. “Harmony’s prettier than Slinky in some ways. Mostly when I’m not looking at her.”

“Won’t this painting bother her?”

“Harmony doesn’t care about that. The past.”

“Has she seen this room? The charcoals?”

Deschutes made a sniffling sound and looked away from Peter, meaning that no, she did not know about the room or Slinky. “I always figured people got over things like this, these old crushes. It’s been what, forty years? Still I’m like a little boy with Slinky.”

“But what about Harmony? Don’t you love her?”

“Sure I do. But I need somebody more. I need somebody to want me. To touch me. It’s been a long time since anyone’s touched me.”

“You and Harmony don’t—you know?”

Deschutes shook his head. “She’s got pains in her joints. And she vowed when her husband died that she’d never please another man. We’re partners in a spiritual way. It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

Peter’s stomach churned. He did not want to think of the old man in anything but a spiritual relationship.

“I’ve got an idea,” Deschutes was saying. “Let’s take a little field trip. My treat. You ever heard of the Outhouse?”

Peter had. The Outhouse was a gentlemen’s club on the outskirts of Lawrence. He’d gone there his freshman year with a group of guys he’d long since lost touch with. The club was housed in a big white building that had been a bank in the thirties. The club owner had installed little cages into the alcoves where the tellers used to stand. If you were drunk enough and stood close enough to the cages, you couldn’t tell who was inside and who was out. The girls were not pretty, but the lights were kept low and happy music made everything seem less sad.

Five minutes later, they were in Peter’s car. Peter did not want to go, but he wanted the money, and Deschutes seemed set on getting out of the house. Neither of them considered that the club would not be open midmorning on a Saturday.

“They don’t open for another hour,” Peter explained to Deschutes. They were standing outside the building, reading a sign posted on the club’s front door, which was locked.

“But I see the girls right there!” Deschutes said, and pointed to two women who were sharing a cigarette by a Dumpster. The women turned to give him a nasty look. “Let us in,” Deschutes yelled.

“Sorry, honey,” one of the girls said. She had big front teeth and red hair that came down to her waist. “We gotta get everything prepped and ready.”

“But I’m ready and I’m the customer,” Deschutes said. “And the customer’s always right.”