“Nice.” They reached Haight-Ashbury and Beep stopped the car outside Walli’s house. “You want a cup of coffee or something?” Walli did not know why he said that: it just came out.

“Sure.” Beep turned off the throaty engine.

The house was empty. Tammy and Lisa had helped Walli deal with his grief about Karolin’s engagement, and he would always be grateful to them, but they had been living a fantasy life that had lasted only as long as the vacation. When summer turned to fall they had left San Francisco and gone home to attend college, like most of the hippies of 1967.

While it lasted, it had been an idyllic time.

Walli put on the new Beatles album, Magical Mystery Tour, then made coffee and rolled a joint. They sat on a giant cushion, Walli cross-legged, Beep with her feet tucked under her, and passed the roach. Soon Walli drifted into the mellow mood he liked so much. “I hate the Beatles,” he said after a while. “They are so fucking good.”

Beep giggled.

Walli said: “Weird lyrics.”

“I know!”

“What does that line mean? ‘Four of fish and finger pies.’ It sounds like, you know, cannibalism.”

“Dave explained that to me,” Beep said. “In England they have seafood restaurants that sell fish in batter with French fries to go. They call it ‘fish and chips.’ And ‘four of fish’ means four pennies’ worth.”

“What about ‘finger pie’?”

“Okay, that’s when a boy puts his finger up a girl’s, you know, vagina.”

“And the connection?”

“It means that if you bought fish and chips for a girl she would let you finger her.”

“Remember the days when that was daring?” Walli said nostalgically.

“Everything’s different now, thank God,” said Beep. “The old rules don’t apply anymore. Love is free.”

“Now it’s oral sex on the first date.”

“What do you like best?” Beep mused. “Giving oral sex, or receiving?”

“What a difficult question!” Walli was not sure he ought to be talking about this with his best friend’s fiancée. “But I think I like receiving.” He could not resist the temptation to add: “What about you?”

“I prefer giving,” she said.

“Why?”

She hesitated. For a moment she looked guilty: perhaps she, too, was not sure they should be discussing this, despite her hippie talk about free love. She took a long draw on the joint and blew out smoke. Her face cleared, and she said: “Most boys are so bad at oral sex that receiving is never as exciting as it should be.”

Walli took the joint from her. “If you could tell the boys of America what they need to know about giving oral sex, what would you say?”

She laughed. “Well, first of all, don’t start licking right away.”

“No?” Walli was surprised. “I thought it was all about licking.”

“Not at all. You should be gentle at first. Just kiss it!”

Walli knew, then, that he was lost.

He looked down at Beep’s legs. Her knees were pressed close together. Was that defensive? Or a sign of excitement?