Cypress had skedaddled with Malik to the back of the walk-in closet, so he could make a deal for some coke. Malik would do anything for Cypress except hurt her, but he was being very stubborn about having to have some blow. Finally, Cypress admitted she couldn’t spare much, because she was saving the best and the larger rocks for her sister to have some money when she got back to L.A. Malik loosened up a bit; agreed to buy a minuscule portion of an ounce, which Cypress did not discount heavily, even though Malik was urging her to let him be her “good-night-kiss.” Cypress laughed and joked that all they did was run together, but Malik was not smiling. He was hoping that just once Cypress would let him love her the way she ought to be, not how she prescribed. Malik wanted Cypress to know him; how she was cherished, and not obliged. And Cypress saw herself having a chance to let go of all her cynicism, and stay in business. She agreed with Malik; maybe this time she wouldn’t have to keep a houseful of men busy trying to cop, and unable to deal with her except as the coke connection. Maybe this time, with a man she knew and worked with, and respected and loved in a way, she could let herself love. She knew she could. Cypress left the closet, and picked up a large antique geisha doll that sat on her dresser. She returned to Malik, and pulled off the doll’s head. In the bosom were bunches of tiny aluminum rectangles Cypress liked to think of as her dowry. She gave Malik one, and shoved the headless doll in a shoebox. She and Malik sank low in the closet, ferreting out likes and dislikes, until Lallah knocked discriminately.

“Cypress, it’s a long distance person-to-person call from Los Angeles.”

Wiggling up, Cypress shouted, “I’m comin’.”