The card in my wallet was like a revolting story people had found out about me, like I took nudie pictures of children. You want to run around erasing the story from everybody’s minds, but events happen in your life that cannot be erased. The fact is, these events change you forever. You’re not the same person anymore. You’re someone new with the same name. You don’t feel better, as in “New is better.” You’re somebody new but you feel mucky. Hopeful, but with a sour feeling down below.

I left a message on John’s machine that I wanted to talk to him about a commercial we had in mind with a country-western theme. I said we needed a band and I’d call him that night, and hung up fast.

At home I cooked dinner for myself. Louise asked to come over, but I made an excuse about work. There wasn’t anything left to clean or vacuum, so I played with Skippy. He kept scratching me accidentally. We weren’t communicating very well. I was getting more nervous by the minute about making that call. I finally did, though.

John answered.

“Hey, John, it’s me,” I said.

“Me? Jim?”

“This is Samuel Beardson,” I said. “I left a message on your machine today. I was the guy who came over Sunday.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he said. “What’s the word?”

“Well, as I mentioned, our creative director, Chuck, wants to use western music on this Juan’s Tacos frozen-dinner commercial.”

“Tacos?”

“Selling tacos,” I said.

“Should I write a song about tacos?”

“No, don’t do that,” I said.

“Just kidding,” he said.

“Oh, sure,” I said, and laughed.

“I don’t know any songs about tacos offhand.”

“Ha-ha,” I said.

“Why don’t I mail your office a demo tape and you or the other guy can tell me what you think,” he said.

“Good idea. That was your girlfriend I met, right?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s someplace—”

“Girls—I mean women—it’s a crazy thing!” I said.

He said, “I think she’s down in the basement doing her laundry.”

“Really? How long have you two guys been living together?”

“About two years,” he said. “We’re married.”

“Girlfriends—you need more of it or less of it, it’s hard to tell which. Know what I mean?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s tough.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“It’s tricky,” he said.

I told John, “I could write a book on everything I know about girls. There’s so much we don’t understand. She cries for no reason, the guy gets angry, one of you is always on the defensive.”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing.

“It’s like some weird kind of a religion,” I said.

“I’d take a woman over religion any day,” he said.