"I've ordered breakfast. Room service will
be here soon, so I'm afraid you'll have to go now. I eat breakfast and
then I do my work."

"Oh, O.K., throw me out. All I have to do is--find my room. Are you all
right?"

"I'm fine, Joe."

"O.K." He staggered up and figured out how to put on his pants. Socks
and shoes took a little doing. "Picking up speed . . . " She kept
watching the TV. "Isabelle?" She turned her head and shushed him with
one finger to her lips.

"Just go, Joe," she said tightly. She meant it.

"But . . . " he didn't even know her last name. "Isabelle, I'm in the
book. Give me a call." She smiled. Joe couldn't tell whether she was
glad that he wanted her to call or whether she was forgiving him for
things he didn't understand. He wanted to hug her, but he knew that he
shouldn't. She changed channels. He blew her a slow kiss and left.

The room waiter pushed a stainless steel cart past him in the hall as
he tried to remember his room number. He thought it was 437. He didn't
want to go down to the lobby and admit to the desk clerk that he was
too messed up to remember his room number. He took the elevator up one
floor. Go for it, he told himself, and slid the card into the lock. A
green light flashed. Yes! He entered his room and considered the bed,
still made. What the hell, might as well keep going, he thought. He
showered and lugged the Filson bag down to the restaurant where he ate
a waffle with strawberries, drank coffee and two glasses of water. He
assessed the situation.

You're in Seattle, Joe.

Airport.

Take bus?

Save money.

It was a smiley morning. The waitress and the desk clerk were in good
moods. The trolley driver was singing. The sun was shining; that must
have had something to do with it. He got off the trolley at the end of
the line and caught a city bus to SeaTac. He was hours early and had
saved thirty bucks by not taking a taxi. He snoozed and spaced out all
the way to Hawaii and home.

"Hi, Batman. Where's the party?" Batman maintained a tolerant silence.
Joe took two aspirin and slept for fourteen hours.

14

Friday morning Joe walked to the farmer's market and bought onions, bok
choy, lettuce, and carrots. The prices were good; the locals were
cheerful; it was a good deal for everyone. It was late September, and
there were fewer tourists around. A lone conga beat tumbled and surged
across Kapiolani Park. The smell of grilling teriyaki drifted across
th