Later we were lying in Louise’s bed, getting reacquainted, and I was trying to picture what John’s house looked like on the inside. I wondered whether anything in my house needed painting. Louise gently implored me to lie on top of her, and I saw his butt again in my mind. He had on different pants that night—tan khakis—and a faded blue denim shirt. You could tell he was very slim and in shape. There I am, horned out and at the same time queasy with the weirdness of it. Sam the cat, he bad and naughty. He dirty kitty-cat. I felt like I was hairless and twelve years old again, caught wanking in my mom’s closet. I thought the cops were going to come in and bust me, because they should’ve.

A BIG ACCOUNT threatened to leave our agency. Our creative team had to fire up a new campaign—radio, print, and television. We got it done at the wire, the campaign went over well, and I personally got the thumbs-up from my boss. The client rep took everybody out to a Japanese place. We dined on platters of sushi and bottles of Scotch. I was in a very chipper mood and even went in with another guy on an eight ball of Peruvian blow. I wired myself right up, high and tight and feeling no pain.

The last place we visited was this fake cowboy bar. It was late and the place was kind of empty. Two couples were dancing. The band up on the stage was still playing. I guess they had to stay. I bought an overpriced, watery pitcher of Bud and wandered around with it in one hand and a complimentary bucket of popcorn in the other. The cocaine had actually been cut with talc, I could tell from the taste, and it wore off fast. But something in that sushi acted like tequila worm on me, and I found myself in the mood to dance. I checked out the field but there wasn’t any, so I kind of slanked around by myself. They were playing some twangy country song. The guy’s voice was the kind you hear on the better side of country and western, if there is such a thing—deep and clear, without that disgusting yodeling break in his high notes.

I went ahead and started dancing, beginning with a redneck-style hop-skip, like you might see on Hee Haw. Then the hop gave way to the spin—I perfected a certain type of spin—splashing beer and popcorn in a circle around me, effecting sincere consternation in the other danseurs, and I looked up onstage and it was him.