We walked back in the rain with the hot clothes under our shirts to keep dry. I lifted my face up for the rain to wash off my sticky tears. They say the rain isn’t clean anymore, either.

We stopped on the deep old porch to catch our breath for the stairs. Carlotta slumped against the wall.

“What are you going to do now?”

It was dark in the way of lighted towns. She looked to me like a figure in an old black-and-white photograph. I must have looked that way to her, too. Souvenirs of ourselves.

“I want to get to California. See my psychiatrist.” The scratches on her face were nearly invisible in the light from the streetlamps. “Do you know anything about psychic readers?”

“There seems to be one on every block. I always figured half of them must be whores. Why?”

“I want to try to contact my baby. There was something in his eyes that makes me think it might be possible.”

“What would he have to say? ‘Goo’?”

She turned away from me sharply.

“Carlotta, I’m sorry.”

“Are you going to open the door?”

“It’s not locked.”

She stepped inside. The vague yellow light in the hall colored her suddenly. She ran up the stairs. I followed her wet footprints. Arrived at the open door of my room with my laundry still bouncing under my shirt. Rennel’s face was inquisitive. His coffee cup was empty and stained.

Sam watched Carlotta, anxiously. She stood over him, gripping the clothes and glaring.

“Do you really want to go right now?”

She didn’t answer him, but turned and walked out the door without looking at my face. The stairs creaked beneath her.

Sam gave me a pained smile. “I thought you would be gentle with her.”

“I’m too vain.”

I threw my bundle of laundry into the cardboard box. Plopped myself onto the floor and dealt angrily with a cigarette. Rennel cleared his throat.

“I’ve been telling Han Shan about the valve job I did on the Rambler. That’s what his car needs. I’m going to get him started and then he is going to do it himself.”

“Lovely.”