I suppose I thought if he saw me, if he and I took a walk and caught a glimpse of ourselves passing by a store window, I would know something then. I would know what to say. This wasn’t a guy-girl thing. That is to say, this wasn’t a sex thing, no. Not entirely. It was also a third thing I keep trying to describe. Maybe spiritual.

I took a shower, shaved, and did everything the way the woman explained. I used the sponge first, did the eyebrow stuff and then the tanning cream. Put it on the neck and ears? I didn’t know. I brushed some of that junk on my eyelashes. It clotted up and fell in my eye. I had to take out a contact lens and flush my eye over and over until I finally got the gunk out. I applied the powder finish last. I put on my new clothes and shoes. The pants were my normal size, but my big ass barely fit, and then I ripped the seam trying to straighten them. They were brand-new pants. I grabbed my wallet. There were no pockets in these pants. They were smooth in the front and back. What do you do with your wallet when you wear them—shove it up your ass? I went out to the car. The seam ripped more as I got into the driver’s seat.

Behind me headlights came up the driveway, blinding me. It was Louise. Now her car was in the way. She got out and headed for the front door, but she spotted me in my car and walked over. I rolled down my window and said, “Hey.”

Louise bent down and looked at me at eye level. It took a few seconds. She said, “Hey, Sam,” scratching her upper lip, the place where the soft white hair is thicker, an area I told her she should get waxed. She was smiling, but her smile was getting weirder and weirder. “Ha,” she said.

“Ha-ha,” I laughed back. Nobody could think of a thing to say. She could have said any number of things. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?” was what she said.

I lifted an eyebrow to play along. “That’s what I was just doing,” I said. “Is it on right?”

“Sam,” she said, but it was more like a question, the beginning of a question.

“I made a bet. I have twenty minutes to get back to Sid’s Rat and sing to these guys to collect.”

“What guys?”

“The bartender.”

“You look like Sinbad,” she said.