LARGE LANGUAGE LOVE, DIVINE

Conclusion of Part 2 - Life Without Romance

Nashville Gloam

Zeph insisted he was young and strong and could handle all the driving. He was built for investigations and adventures. He said he could drive forever. Around Nashville Claire could tell he was withering, getting stiff and blinking his eyes.

She asked if she could help.

"Yeah, okay. Yeah."

When they were on their way again with Claire behind the wheel, Zeph let out a huge and shuddering yawn. "So, what's Kung FAI, anyway? They're trying to be like Karate, or Kung Fu?. I mean, I've seen those ads in the back of Calypso, but I honestly could never tell if it was a spiritual thing or what.”

"I think the people who created it, who are these videogame developers, want it to be everything. I think. It does have a kind of culty vibe, for sure. FAI stands for Friendship, Amity, and Inclusion."

"Oh."

“Some people think it's going to be some kind of cultural revolution. My husband and I are into it because it's we think it could help the kids we tutor, and their parents. The people we work with tend to be immediate task focused, and with the the structure of Kung FAI they could have more, opportunities.”

"Improving their social skills."

"Uh huh. My husband thinks it's magic. I think the introductory materials are very practical. I'm very interested to see how the training builds on them." She explained the basics, the rings, how you could use these rings for social goals, or to play the branded game where you tried to win ancillary cards from other players.

Zeph was hunched up in his jacket against the passenger door. He scrunched his forehead and said, “Huh. You've been doing that on me, haven't you? Like all day.”

Even though he didn't sound accusing, Claire felt like an asshole. "It's just basic stuff to to get a conversation going. I hope you don't think I was messing around or..."

"It's cool. Is the certifying part, is that hard?”

"It's crazy expensive, that's for sure."

Zeph said, “Yeah, wow. Actually, I might take a nap if you don’t mind. Uh, you want to listen to something, I got tapes. The radio doesn't work.” Without looking he pulled a drawstring sack out from under the passenger seat. “It’s basically all Paisley Underground.”

Paisley Underground - an echo. She blinked and in her mind’s eye saw phantom pages of Creem magazine flipping before her. “That was a scene, right? Early 80s. Was it Minneapolis, or LA?”

"Totally L.A. The Three O’clock, The Dream Syndicate, Green On Red.”

"No shit. I owned some albums by the Dream Syndicate, but I never got into them.”

Zeph yawned again. His eyes were closed. “My dad was in the scene. I never knew him, but he was a drummer in this band that turned into this other band that turned into this band called Opal.”

“Wow. That’s cool.”

Zeph gave a half a shrug. He gave every appearance of being asleep, but then said, "Opal turned into this band called Mazzy Star. They're pretty cool."

"Is that where he met your mom?"

No response. For several moments she thought he was out again. Then he said, as though he hadn't heard her, "It's good we didn't get the band together. I think Janet and I - there was a philosophical difference about music. I'm actually not sure what her thoughts were, but I think everything comes down to math. Music feels like it's free but in fact it's this very rigid code. It's your relationship to the code that makes the sounds, or, the movement. Music moves in different directions and that can differentiate relationships in the space time zone. It creates the illusion of order in the greater chaos."

Still with his eyes closed he felt around inside the sack. He handed her a tape. OPAL was scrawled on the plastic in black marker. She slipped it into the player. Slow melodies floated around like incense. Claire was reminded of the Doors and The Velvet Underground. A woman sang with a plain and unadorned voice, which combined with the music to invoke something that felt haunted and true. The landscape was getting darker. They were slipping into the world of smooth and sharp headlights, and lit signs over the tree line.

Zeph murmured, "The diamond, up in the sky..."

Certified

They arrived in Pensacola just before midnight. It was misty and quite and still Sunday, though Claire had a hard time believing it. Zeph dropped her off at the Regal Hotel and drove into the warm and humid night, to - as he put it - investigate true reality in nearby towns that weren't on his Merin Webster map.

The following Friday afternoon, Claire called Boom Boom and said, "Guess what?"

"I'm guessing you just got certified, and you're calling me just like we agreed." He sounded groggy, the way he always did at the end of the week. "How was the trip?"

"Fine, fine. This kid who lives with Rob - it's kind of a long story, but he ended up driving me. He's a good kid. Kind of a misfit. I get the impression he's living off some sort of inheritance and he doesn't have anything going on and wanted to check out the area. I think he wants to be in the Beat Generation but I don't think he knows who any of those people are."

"Me either, but car pooling sounds better than driving solo."

"And now I'm officially a Kung FAI trainer."

"Awesome. Was it hell?"

"The first day I was really intimidated. All the trainers dressed like they were these Wallstreet tycoons. They made it very clear they thought Kung FAI was the most important innovation of the 20^th century." She lowered her voice. "But, in terms of content, nothing they presented was any different than the materials we already had. There aren’t any special techniques, or I don't know what. They just talked a lot about how important Kung FAI is and made it all sound incredibly serious and complicated."

"Maybe you're just smart."

Claire said, "Ha. There were no quizzes or tests. You just had to listen to all the lectures. I don't know if they were trying to justify the cost, or if there was some strategy behind making it all so boring and repetitive - I have no idea."

"Doesn't matter. You got the certificate and now we're pro."

"By Wednesday I invented a silly game to help me stay awake. I counted how many times the trainers said protocol and metric and feedback system. Every time I reached a hundred points I was allowed to go to the bathroom and hang out in the lobby for ten minutes. When the trainers talked about social revolution I gave herself twenty point bonus. And I got a lot of bonus points. Every night I'd be so exhausted. I had no idea boredom was so exhausting. I could barely muster up enough energy to hike down the street to go Burger King for dinner."

"I've heard the south was more about fried chicken."

"There is a lot of fried chicken around here. I went into a 7-Eleven and that's what they were serving instead of hot dogs and pizza."

"Are they gonna like, have a party or something tonight? It sounds like you're in the middle of a party.”

"I'm in the hotel lobby in this cute little alcove where they've got the phones. This place looks like something from the 1940s. If you make long distance calls on your room phone they charge more. I have no idea about parties. I'm a bad Kung FAI practitioner. I've made no effort to socialize with the other trainees. It's not just the human thing, they're all like, corporate HR people."

"I can see that. So you heading back tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah. Bright and early. The kid's swinging by around seven. I'm interested in hearing about what he got into. I'm sure for him it was all very profound. He's very serious and profound."

"Listen," Boom Boom said, "I know I said it before, but I'm sorry I wasn't able to drive you."

"It's not your fault. I don't fly, and you've got your job, so..."

"So... I got a Red Baron pizza I gotta take out of the oven. Congratulations again. You have a safe trip back."

He hung up. He hadn’t said he missed her because he didn’t. Daltons didn't miss others because they were all wired together. They never felt lonely or alone. Claire hung up the phone and wondered if she missed him. No, but not for Dalton reasons.

Gavin’s Kiss

But not for Dalton reasons… So what were the reasons? Claire stared at the pay phone. Gray plastic. Reasons didn’t matter. She said to herself, Here you are, and there you go. Walk to Burger King. Go to bed. Go home to Rochester. Get your head filled up again with Dalton data and get back into it. This is what you will do because this is what you do.

Except she didn't move. She stayed in the cozy molded plaster alcove and watched the other Kung FAI practitioners and tourists cheerfully bustle between the lobby's ferns and fake granite pillars. All these people with different places to go. Why wasn't she going anywhere? Because she didn't want to go to Burger King again. So where to go for dinner... She wasn't sure she even wanted dinner. She wanted something, but she wasn't sure what. Something was suddenly aching somewhere inside of her. Loneliness. She told herself to stop thinking but she couldn’t. Boom Boom didn't miss her. It was something she never had to deal with in Rochester. There was work and the Great Mission and Daltons against humans. Destructive, confused, troublesome humans. Simple.

There was a chubby boy maybe five or six who was seated on a bench by the opposite wall, sitting with a lady Claire took to be his grandmother. She handed him a chocolate glazed donut with a napkin around it like a taco shell, and then proceeded to root around in her purse. The boy immediately dropped the donut. He looked at it on the tiled floor directly in front of him. His grandmother was still rooting through her purse. The boy stepped off the bench to retrieve the donut, but in so doing accidently stepped on it, squashing it flat. Stunned, he stared at his shoe and the squashed donut, unsure what to do next.

Claire wanted to laugh because she wanted to cry. How strange and profound. She glanced around to see if anyone was sharing the moment with her. Someone was. A man was staring at her. He was broad and tall and wore an expensive key lime linen suite with a blousy pink ascot. They made eye-contact and he cocked his head like curious dog. He strode over. Before Claire knew what was going on he forced her against the payphone and grabbed her crotch with a large strong hand and kissed her.

It was her first kiss. Both his tongue and his hand were expertly probing and appraising.

He stepped back, nodding with approval. "I’m Gavin. I would like to buy you a drink and learn more about you."

She felt run over. Up close she could tell he was extremely strong. He smelled like a fashion magazine, only with greater assertiveness. His almond brown eyes were smoldering and intent. Was this wrong? Yes, of course this was wrong, very wrong.

"No." She heard herself say.

"Ah ha." Gavan nodded like she’d just delivered helpful directions. He strolled away.

Parrots Shelter

Her knees were weak. Had that really just happened? No one was watching. The boy and his grandmother and the donut were gone. She needed to go. She needed to get away. Not to her room. Her room was too small. It was too empty.

Feeling very automatic she made a beeline to the hotel bar, Parrots. She sat at the bar because this was her first time in a bar. She placed both of her hands on the bar itself. It was smooth and cool, polished white stone with blushes of pink and cracks of gold. The rest of Parrots was narrow and mainly teak. Fake palm fronds flourished in the corners.

The bartender drifted over and asked what she wanted. Claire said, "You tell me. You choose." Talking made her more aware she was dealing with heavy shock.

The bartender's starchy Hawaiian shirt was buttoned tightly around her neck. She shrewdly assessed Claire and nodded with a banker's professionalism, and placed a clear bottle on a coaster. ZIMA was printed on the blue wrapper. Claire studied the Zima. When she was younger she'd always steered clear of alcohol because it made her mother weird and difficult. Her mother lost her business because of alcohol. Daltons considered alcohol almost as harmful as caffeine. At the same time Claire was certain that right now alcohol was exactly what she needed. More of the automatic, her body overriding her brain, her body understanding she needed a slap, a zap, whatever, immediately.

The Zima was pleasingly cold and tasted like licorice. After a few minutes Claire started feeling the slap. It was exactly what she needed. Her brain went from black and white to technicolor. She was somewhere safe because there were people around. People kept the bad people away and shielded you from yourself. But Gavin had assaulted her in a crowded lobby. But did she feel assaulted? She should. Maybe if she was normal she would. She was mad but she also felt turned on. There it was. She was surprised she could still feel turned on. She was surprised someone like Gavin would want to feel her up. What a complete asshole. She'd made the right decision saying no.

She thought about what to do next. Should she tell Boom Boom? Why? Would Boom Boom even care? He'd be concerned and want to make sure she was okay. But would he care about the kissing and her getting felt up? Probably not. Did that mean if she wanted to kiss someone and then whatever else… Could she? She’d never thought about it before because it had never been an option, or so it had always seemed. As long as she was fulfilling all of her duties…

The bartender returned and asked her if she wanted another. Claire said, "Oh, most definitely."

A man took the stool next to her. With a pleasant smile he said, "Would you mind allowing me the pleasure of buying you that drink?"

She knew she shouldn’t say yes, but at the same time she also shouldn’t be feeling turned on. So… There was suddenly a profound sense of freedom to being wrong, which was why Claire found herself saying, "Sure, but I'm sure the pleasure will be all mine."

Respect The Zima

Her benefactor was saying, "If I may, I love your stripes."

She wasn't sure what he was referring to, perhaps the blouse she'd bought at the Woolworths in Ithaca. He wore a light beige cotton vest, unbuttoned, which helped to show off a deep and even tan. A braided leather band was tied tightly around his neck. His long curly hair was slicked back in frozen waves. He said, "If I may, my name is Glenn, and as much as I enjoy this scene, and sharing a lovely drink with you, I have to be honest. I would much more enjoy a calming cup of tea.”

Claire wasn't sure if she'd heard him correctly. "Really? Tea?"

"Here's what I see, a beautiful lady alone in a cocktail lounge. Several things could be at play. She's waiting to meet a friend, or that special person. She's not here for the music."

"I do like the music." The music sounded like Jimmy Buffet. When she was a kid she'd hated Jimmy Buffett. With every sip of Zima she felt more acceptance. The bar was filling up fast. Pastel tank tops and floral print short sleeve shirts. So many smiles.

"And Mr. Jimmy likes you too. And so, given all that, I would say, regardless of who you are waiting for, or what you are waiting for, you are the sort of beautiful lady who might be interested in a cup of tea."

Claire thought, What is going on? This is getting completely absurd. She said, "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

Glenn raised an eyebrow. "And being a complete gentleman about it."

She giggled. "This is wild. This is what happens when I step into the world. This has always been here. This is incredible. I can't walk on the wild side Glenn, I'm married."

His pleasantness was entirely unfazed. "You like Lou Reed?"

"Excuse me?"

Glenn said, "I saw Lou Reed do a show in Boston last winter, and he was belligerent to the audience the whole time. Typical Lou Reed behavior, I'm sure we can agree. And then, for his closer, he did this calypso version of Walk On The Wild side that was bad, intentionally so very bad. He was making fun of the song and making fun of the audience. Well, he learned what a lot of us already know, which is you don't fuck with Boston, because someone threw a bottle Zima and hit him in the head."

"Oh gosh," Claire said. “The power of Zima.”

"Yeah. The power of Zima."

Claire was now trying to remember the last time she'd listened to Lou Reed. When she was a teenager he'd been such a hero. "I did I always read he was something of a notorious asshole." Claire blinked. Three was Gavin, the asshole who’d just assaulted her, talking to the bartender at the end of the bar. Claire said, "Oh, and speaking of."

Singular Projects

"No shit," Claire murmured and took another sip of Zima and found she'd finished the bottle. "Pardon me," she told Glenn, "but there's an asshole I have to confront."

Gavin was saying, "You can absolutely change this garbage if you want to. Fifty dollars if you play some Achtung Baby."

The bar tender was unimpressed. "We don't have that."

"Well guess what." Gavin placed a CD on the bar and placed a fifty dollar bill on top of it, and tapped it with his index finger.

Claire poked Gavin's shoulder. She felt nervous and excited and perfectly crazy. He turned around and regarded her with zero surprise and only marginally more interest. "You change your mind?"

Claire pulled her shoulders back and stuck her chin out. With Zima power she said, "Why'd you grab my crotch and stick your tongue down my throat?"

U2 started playing. Gavin signaled the bartender. “Well done. Another of whatever she's soused on, and another Diet Coke with a twist of lemon.”

Claire said, "You're going to pretend it didn't happen? That's fucking weak." There was a new Zima before her and she took a long swallow and licked her lips.

Gavin was studying the room and nodding to the beat. "I was collecting sensory data."

"I see. Well, that's a very disrespectful way to do it. You know, I could call someone. I could call the police."

Gavin showed no concern. He'd changed into a ribbed turtle neck and a gun metal suit. His shoulders and biceps strained against the suit's sleek fabric. He took a dainty sip of Diet Coke. "You could, but you won't. I only feel up fours. Fours don't retaliate."

"What the fuck is a four?"

"I'm doing research in the classification of different female types, as related to romantic relationship potential. There are seven categories: gestalt desirability, physical desirability, quantitative intelligence, social intelligence, financial success, and emotional success. Each category yields a number, from one to ten. The numeric combinations code a type."

He was aloof and earnest. What was funny was he sort of sounded like a Dalton, except no Daltons were that tall or good looking. Claire said, "Uh huh. So how am I a four? Is that a four out of ten?" She noticed something bulging at the neck of his turtle neck. Some sort of growth. His ascot must have been covering it up before.

Gavin was saying, "Your gestalt desirability is a four. Yes, four out of ten. Your physical desirability is a four. You've got spankable tits and you could have a hot ass, but you're fat. Your intelligence is a four because your name tag attests to your attending that Kung FAI training, which is just so much bullshit and self-help nonsense, and wildly overpriced. You're social intelligence is at least a five, because when I saw you, you were clearly alienated from the rest of the idiots in an obvious sort of way. Your financial success is a five because you can afford the Kung FAI training. Emotional success would be a three, because again, you partook in the training. All of that puts you at a high four."

"Wow. What precise objectification. Does my thinking you’re a complete asshole also prove I'm a high four?"

"No, that doesn't affect the rating." He sipped more Diet Coke. His eyes were flat and roaming.

Somehow, she'd already finished her latest Zima. Her head felt incredibly clear. "And just to be clear, when you said you wanted to learn more about me, that was just part of this research you're talking about. None of this was about you trying to fuck me."

"Correct. Once I've obtained the sensory data I try to collect some basic demographic data."

"Why do you get to collect all the data? What’s your number rating, thing."

Gavin's expression remained neutral. Without missing a beat, he said, "Gavin isn’t relevant. My name isn't really Gavin. It's Dave." He cupped the bulge at the base of his neck. "I’m different. I’m going to live forever. Right now I live here. But after Gavin dies I'll still be fine and dandy. There you go, another high four." He tipped his Diet Coke to a lady Claire recognized from the training. She was standing alone by the restroom, her unnaturally auburn hair sprayed high and stiff and brushing against fake palm fronds as she surveyed the scene. Gavin/Dave deposited another fifty dollar bill on the bar and effortlessly swam through the crowd. Claire watched him move in on the lady and kiss her and feel her up in the exact same manner he'd done with her earlier. The lady giggled and they started talking.

Through the speakers Bono was singing about flies.

Claire said, "Fuck me, she is another four."

Different Doors

Claire was done with Parrots.

In the hotel lobby there was Glenn standing by himself and smoking. Claire thought, Perfect. She went to him and said, "I'm so sorry I just cut out like that. I'm having kind of a wild night and I completely forgot my manners."

"Not at all."

He lit her Camel Light. Claire said, "Could I trouble you for more conversation? I'm having this, confusion. Or, I don't know."

"You're saying you'd like to go somewhere more comfortable, and engage my services, for conversation."

"Yes. But I want to be able to really talk to you."

Glenn stubbed out his cigarette. He plucked her cigarette and took a deep drag. "Honey, you're the one who's going to be paying, and that means I'll do whatever you want."

In her room she made two cups of tea. Glenn added rum from a leather encased flask. Claire tried to explain what was on her mind. It was difficult. Without getting into the Dalton stuff she talked about Boom Boom, and their marriage, about why she thought she'd gotten married. Glenn was patient and gave her encouraging nods. Claire sketched out what had happened with Gavin/Dave. Glenn didn't appear shocked or surprised. Claire talked about her conflicted feelings, and it was there she found what was most important, what she'd been trying to express about all along. "I'm just trying to figure out if I'm attractive. Like, for real. What do you really think. I get that you get paid to be with women and help them feel attractive, but what do you really think about me?"

Without hesitation Glenn said, "I think you're attractive. I don't approach women I don't find attractive. Some do, but it doesn't work for me."

"Even though I'm fat. Even though I'm a total dork."

"There is what you are, and what surrounds it. Some focus on what surrounds and some, like myself, are lucky enough to see what is."

It sounded like total bullshit, but still. Claire said, "What is what? I mean, that's all well and good, but even my what is, like damaged. What if I told you I was born without a vagina or uterus? Because I was, and I think that's very significant."

Glenn continued to be neither shocked nor surprised. "Doesn't change what I said. Not at all."

"For real? I mean, really? Have you ever been with a woman who's like that?"

"Sure. I've been with lots of women. I've been with women like that. I don't want to sound glib, but sometimes it’s easy to see and sometimes it isn’t."

"And it doesn't matter. You're telling me it doesn't matter."

"It matters to some people and it doesn't matter to others. I've been with women who have similar conditions as yourself and they're in relationships with people who find them fantastically attractive, who they also find attractive."

"So why do they see you? If they've got someone who thinks they're hot and wants to bang them?"

He gestured around the room, at the tea, at her, and then himself. He smiled pleasantly. "Because none of this makes any sense."

"And you’ve screwed women who don’t have vaginas."

"Sure. If you don’t have a front door, you go in through the back."

Claire thought, Outrageous. "Are you kidding me? That's what gay men do. This is really a thing?"

"Yes, and yes. Some contend it provides even more pleasure."

There were now so many thoughts in her head and they were so clear and they were all spinning, more like a whirlpool than a tornado. "Oh my goodness. I am so glad I'm talking to you. This is giving me so much to think about. Thank you, thank you for buying me that drink. Alcohol has been part of this amazing experience. I don’t think I would have been able to talk about any of this without it." She stood up and held out her hand. "Thank you so much."

Glenn stood and shook her hand. "The pleasure was all mine. We've conversated for two hours. I charge one-fifty an hour, so that would be three hundred."

New Improved Zeph

She was on her knees in front of the hotel bed. Her kneecaps were chapped and red. She clutched the TV remote. It was stinky and sticky. She knew she'd blacked out. She must have. She’d paid Glenn, grateful she had enough cash… She could remember Glenn saying goodnight in the open doorway. She could remember locking the door and turning around in circles and taking off her clothes. And now it was morning. Two plastic cups of cold tea with rum were keeping each other company on top of the mini fridge. She was naked. The door was still locked.

She became aware of a massive headache and with the awareness came tidal waves of nausea. She hurried into the shower and threw up onto her feet. Her vomit was thick like cold gravy and tasted like licorice. It was morning. It was time to go. A song played in her head. What was it? “Strawberry Hill” by Peter Gabriel. Why? Glenn has said nothing makes sense. Glenn had made a lot o sense. Her head was pounding to the beat of the drum.

She wore her sunglasses. The alcohol reduced her to a patchwork of rot and aches and chills. No urge to smoke. She told herself she’d never smoke again. Don’t smoke. Don’t drink. She told herself she just had to survive the trip. Get back to Rochester and take it from there.

The existential boy scout was already parked by the fountain. He leaned against the side of his Lincoln in his goofy barn jacket with his long greasy hair loose and sloppy. He wore a pair of plastic gold wraparound sunglasses. His arms were crossed over his skinny chest and he was grinning like they were old friends.

“You get it?”

Claire had no clue what he was talking about. Then she remembered the training. “I got it.”

The Lincoln reeked of decaying vinyl and sugar and fried dough. On one of the back seats sat a large pink box, blotchy with oil stains. Claire tasted acid and tried not to vomit again. Never drink again, she told herself. Never drink again.

Zeph navigated out of the city. He appeared jovial, perhaps even wired. "You're probably wondering, like what about that box of donuts? Huh?"

Claire said, "Uh..."

"You could say my investigations led to some profound revelations. And give credit where credit is due - it all started with how you turned me on to the whole eating thing. I was still playing the game and I didn't even know it until you helped me with that insight, which I truly appreciate."

"No problem."

"So, after I dropped you off I'm driving around the little towns around here, having my investigations, sleeping in the back, contemplating that insight. And..." Claire knew he was pausing for effect. He was clearly so eager and excited, she couldn't bring herself to tell him to shut up.

Zeph said, "I get heavily into the world of donuts. I get out of my car and into the donut shops. Fucking donut shops. And boom - shit gets so real."

"That's cool. Listen, I was up late last night. Kinda tired."

"Let me know if you want me to stop for coffee, or, I believe you were drinking Mountain Dew before, right?. That's cool. Now, the way I've mapped it, we've got the option of taking the coastal route and then popping up through Panama City Beach. It’d add a couple of hours, but we’d see more of what Florida looks like. Depends on you're time needs.”

"I guess it doesn't really matter. I just need some rest..."

“Cool. Yeah, let me know if you want a donut. I got crawlers and old fashioneds and glazed. Man, I got everything, man. I think my favorite are the lemon filled. Wow. Fuck. A lemon filled donut and a cup of black coffee." He shook his head joyfully. "That's what I mean. I never partook in caffeine because like, why? Because I'd never gotten into lemon filled donuts. Investigations get you into true reality. Speaking of, I'm doing my investigations and I start understanding that donuts aren't objects, and they're not flags. It's not about if you eat donuts it means this or that about you. You got to understand that a donut just as much as us, has to be creating the world around it. Right? It's got us working for it, making it, and the goal is consumption. There's this cultivated symbiotic relationship, and I don't just mean donuts, it's like, everything, right? The grass wants to get mowed. The coffee bean wants to be burned up and smashed apart and boiled, because it wants to get drunk and pissed out into a sewer. I totally realized that everything ultimately is just relationships. Two things in proximity to each other, dynamics that exist in the space time continuum. How are they affecting each other, and what are they getting from each other? And the answer is, always, and going both ways. And nothing's static because of time so the dynamic is always changing. Holy shit. All of that from fucking donuts. Can you believe it? Fucking Florida and fucking donuts."

Her headache was a crude iron spike, pressing deeper and deeper into her brain. Claire said, more loudly than she intended, "Zepth."

It brought him back. "Oh, yeah, sorry. You rest. I'm gonna get us back. I'm just pumped. It's cool."

Claire thought, Rest. Rochester. Don't think.

The Accident

The car engine woke her, sounding like someone was whacking on it with a sledgehammer. Claire opened her eyes and beheld an eruption of steam flooding from the Lincoln's hood.

Zeph was keenly aware. He glanced down. “Oh shit. I got no power. Fuck. Fuck.”

The Lincoln slowed quickly, and was rattling all over. Mid-day traffic honked and swerved around them. The sky was a lumpy blanket of dark gray clouds. Her headache had retreated but her neck hurt and the rest of her still felt like refried shit. A sign explained they were just outside Panama City Beach. Everyone was driving too fast around them.

The engine completely died and they were stalled out in the hammer lane.

“I don’t think anyone can see my fucking hazards.” Zeph licked his lips. “If one of those motherfuckers isn’t paying attention and rear ends us, that’s it. Even if we keep our seat belts on. Fucking head on, ninety miles an hour. Damn. If we climb onto the hood we’re going we’re still fucked if they hit us. That divider’s like eight-feet tall, and no chance we get get across the road the way these motherfuckers are coming at us.”

With the ac gone the interior of the car got hot and steamy. The smell of leather and vinal and donuts and dirt was overpowering. A ticking stopped. The hazard light went dead.

“There goes the battery,” Zeph said. “Oh man, this sucks.” His eyes were wide. All color had drained from his face. Cars and trucks kept swerving and shooting past so close they shook the Lincoln and made it wiggle on its tires like a bobble head.

There was nothing to be done. Claire tried to go back to sleep.

Zeph's voice sounding hopeful: “Oh hey. We got something.”

Her Timex told her it was about an hour later. The world’s largest utility truck was slowly lumbering up behind them. A tiny driver with a green metal hat towed them to a mechanic who was also his cousin. They rode with him in his cab. At the mechanic's Claire sat outside on an uncomfortable chair made of cut up tires, partially buried in the dirt. She stared at a cluster of pink cacti.

Zeph came to her. "A part needs to be ordered, but they said it's gonna be done by four." He shook his head. "I'm really sorry, man."

Claire said, "It wasn't your fault."

Zeph thought about it and nodded. "Yeah. The guy said we could hang out here, or, he told me the beach isn't far off."

They took to the beach. Fog deluged palm trees. They crossed a boulevard and cut through a gap in a wall of little motels that were all in different shades of Pepto Bismol or Mylanta. Cigarette butts poked out of the sand and the waves were as indifferent as the seagulls coasting above them. They hunkered in a patch of dirt off a walkway. Zeph gently put down his box of donuts.

Claire shivered.

Zeph said, "Yeah, it's chilly. It's that misty breeze. You want to find somewhere else -"

"No. I'm just cold. It's okay."

He took off his barn jacket and unbuttoned the sides.

"It's okay," Claire said.

"No, this is good. It'll work. The canvas is waxed."

He was right. The jacket felt like a tent. She felt protected. "Right?" Zeph said. Now he was shivering. He was crying.

She scooched close and tossed the jacket around him so they were both covered. She hugged him to her. It was the right thing to do. He initially felt like a frozen chicken leg, but he quickly warmed up and he stopped crying.

She'd never held anyone before. Never with her parents, that was for sure. Holding him right now felt good in a way that felt better than anything ever had. Better than eating junk food. Better than those first three Zimas. Claire luxuriated in the sensation. She thought, here is life. She wondered how long the feeling would last. Her stomach gurgled.

Zeph said, "You need a donut?"

"No thank you. I don't want to sound like an asshole, but I think I'm more of a Hostess girl."

"I'm not offended. Donuts are okay, but a little bit goes a long way."

Zeph said, "Man, this was not what I thought was going happen. But, you know, I think we're handling it pretty good."

Claire said, "You saved me."

Ghosts Of Scranton

Her Timex beeped. Four PM. They picked up his car. Buildings were rumors in the fog. Cars appeared and disappeared. Wherever people were, it was somewhere else. She was somewhere else. Claire kept thinking, This city is a ghost, this place is a dream. She said jokingly to Zeph, "Maybe we should come back some time."

She fell asleep and dreamed of the Great Dalton Mission and holding Zeph and the calm ocean and the fog. When she woke up they were in Scranton. Zeph was getting gas. She excused herself and found a payphone and called Boom Boom.

"Listen," she said, already crying. "I feel like I've got a lot to say, but I don't know how to say it."

"I know."

"What? You pulled me?"

"No. You called me last night."

"I did?"

"Uh huh. You told me you were super drunk and probably wouldn't remember anything you said."

"I don't remember. What did I say? Was I out of my mind?"

"You said there are things you wanted, or I guess, things you've always wanted. And you'd given up on them because you thought you couldn't have them. But now you think you can."

He didn't sound upset. Like all Daltons, Boom Boom could get nervous, scared, uncomfortable, but he didn't get upset.

"Was I talking about emotions, and relationships, and love, and sex?"

"You didn't get into specifics. You mentioned wanting to feel special."

Claire was back on the beach in the fog with Zeph. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Boom Boom cleared his throat. "Claire, you deserve to feel special. You've got every right to want to feel special."

He cared, in the way he could. She was still crying. Claire said, "You've helped me so much. You listened to me. You never judged me. You showed me the world isn't completely out of control. I'm so grateful to you. I'm so, so grateful. But..."

"I get it. I think part of why it's all really intense right now is the whole holding all that data and then having it suddenly removed. I kept telling the hub it wasn't a good idea keeping you loaded up as long as they did.”

"I don't think I can support the Mission anymore."

"I get it."

"I don't want to cause drama. The last thing I want to do is jam things up for you."

"No, no drama. No one would want you to be unhappy. We'll get a divorce, and the hub'll take care of everything. I'll get set up with someone else. There's no hard feelings from the community." Boom Boom cleared his throat again. "But they will want compensation."

"Of course. Fair is fair. I get it. How much?"

"I'm not sure. They'll use your bank account."

"Whatever it is, that's what I owe." She tried to say his name and it sounded like she was gargling marbles. "I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't met you. I'm going to miss you so much."

"Respect to Respect."

He didn't say he was going to miss her. Claire placed the receiver against her chest. For some reason she was now thinking about the little boy back who'd dropped his donut and then stepped on it. Was the meaning of life that everything was actually sad and beautiful and dumb and perfect all at the same time? Or was it all actually about donuts, like Zeph said. For a moment it was. The gas station was on the side of a steep hill. Across the street stood a cinder block lodge with a neon shamrock in the the lone window. A large man opened the door and his pants fell down exposing his fleshy bare ass. Claire said, "Okay, too much."

She put the receiver back to her ear and Boom Boom was saying, "What's that?"

The door closed behind the man. She waited for something more to happen, and when it didn't she snorted up a bunch of mucus and said, "Scranton. I'm in Scranton."

The Acknowledgment Of Infinity

Rolling hills and scrubby woods and fast food and gas station signs high up on poles in the hard morning light. Thoughts about what was next. She was going to have a brand new life. She was going to have to get a brand new life. It was like she was once again at the end of high school. She wasn't as overwhelmed as she had been back then. There was going to be a Dalton debt to pay off. She could figure it out. Being in debt would force her to get her shit together and get a Kung FAI coaching business up and running. She knew she could live with Rob, at least for a while, and save some money that way. Being around Janet would be difficult, but Janet was always difficult. Life was difficult. And then there was Zeph.... She was feeling a magnetic attraction to him. It made no sense. She wanted to hold him again more than anything else in the world. She told herself she was still reacting to the accident and everything else. She told herself that after a couple days of rest she'd be thinking more clearly and all these new and old feelings wouldn't be so all over the place.

At the same time, in the outside world she was munching on Pizza Combos and chatting with Zeph, who had done all the driving. He was zoning hard, saying, "It's so weird, you'd think almost dying would have brought up some profound insights. Maybe. It's making me think about this movie I saw when I was a kid."

"I haven't seen a lot of movies."

"You probably haven't seen it then. It's called The Incredible Shrinking Man."

"I don't think I saw it."

"It's old. It's black and white. This guy shrinks, and like, that's it. There was no bad guy. He just shrinks, and the more he shrinks the more he loses. He loses his wife. He ends up getting lost in his house. Everything keeps changing. There are new dangers and then he keeps shrinking and that stuff doesn't matter any more. At the end he gets so small he can go anywhere. It's like ultimate freedom, but he has to accept that he doesn't exist, he's just, like, integrated. It's like becoming infinity."

Ithaca was bright and chirpy. The noon sun was inescapable. Janet's hearse was parked in the driveway. Rob's Range Rover wasn't. The the back door and front door were locked. All keys were gone. Zeph didn't have any keys.

"It's Janet," Zeph said. "She's done this before."

They tried knocking on the doors. They tried knocking on the shaded windows of the hearse.

Zeph said, "She's probably sleeping inside. That last time she got like this she slept a lot. And there was no waking her."

"I feel like I could sleep a lot."

"No doubt."

They were standing by the hearse in the shade of the garage. Neither of them were in possession of Rob's number.

Zeph said, "Probably shouldn't bother her at work anyway. She's got an important and stressful job."

"I agree."

Even in the shade it was hot. The world was overheating. Claire was exhausted. Now that they weren't moving she felt twice as exhausted.

"I'd say just hang out in my car with the air, but that kinda feels like..."

"Florida."

"Uh huh."

Claire gazed at the tower of the Holiday Inn, poking above trees and roofs. "I'm going to get a room. Fuck it."

"What?"

"Fuck it. At the Holiday Inn. I'm going to be owing money anyway so..." She was looking at him. Zeph became frail. He was again the boy on the beach. His chin and lower lip began to tremble. Claire opened her arms and said, "C'mer."

He came to her and they held each other. She understood he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She said, "I broke up with my husband. In Scranton."

"Gosh." His face was pressed between her boobs. "Tell me what to do. Anything you want, I'll do it."

Claire thought, This is real. We are going to get a room together and... Her secret. They were going to get a room together. She had to tell him. And suddenly her heart was beating so hard she thought it would explode. She couldn't breathe. She was dizzy. She released him and shook her head and said, "It's okay, I just need to tell you something, but... But... I need a cigarette. Shit, I'm out of cigarettes. I'm going to go get cigarettes, I'll be back."

Cryus Deli was two blocks away and only sold Camel Lights in soft packs. She smoked two on the way back with her other hand flat over her head to blunt the sun. The cigarettes helped. The walk helped. She was going to tell him. She'd get the best room at the Holiday Inn. All she wanted was to be close to him, and he felt the same way.

But Rob's driveway was deserted. The house was still locked. The Lincoln was still there, but Janet's hearse was gone.

An hour later Rob came home.

The next morning the Lincoln was gone.

One day after that Claire learned from her bank she'd taken out a loan for eighty thousand dollars.

…Part 3 - 1995 Dance Floor…