Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I hadn't dwelt on it because I had an idea how many guys, and avoiding her stats and rat-
ings seemed more convenient. “I got him up. But then he couldn't keep it up.” She sighed,
maybe at the replay. Then she laughed. “What a mess.”
Was the mess figurative or literal? Was it him, her or the gooey aftermath? “Why did you
do him?”
She didn't hesitate. “I thought I'd give him a thrill. He was so depressed all the time. It was
miserable—oh, God! Do you remember Dick Dunning?” Yes, I remembered Dick. He too was
Randy's pal. He and I got arrested in Florida when—never mind. She'd done him later that
same week. She laughed; she and Dick were inevitable, they were such good friends for so
many years, and when Randy left, well . . . Boy, no problem keeping it up on
that
guy, which
really was what she needed after the disaster with the limp noodle guy. Oh, and Keith Schaef-
fer. And Ricky Berman . . .
“Busy week.”
“No. Not the same week. Please . . .”
“Rick Berman?” Rick Berman wasn't friends with Randy Mutton—he was opposite, con-
servative to a yawn, a serious student focused on a dental career. “You dated Rick Berman?”
“Not dated. We just, you know, hung out one night. I got to tell you, that guy is the worst
fuck on the face of the earth. God! So demanding, and for what? Six seconds of bang, bang,
bang, grunt, snort and out.” She laughed again at the ridiculous package Rick Berman had
presented.
“Why?”
She sighed again in a set piece. “I don't know. Give him a thrill.” She dented my continuing
affection through eight or ten guys, till she came to the denouement, the be-all, end-all of
Betty's affliction, transforming my fondness to enduring sympathy. She'd been horny, “really
horny,” much worse than usual, and she couldn't relax or think of who to call. So she called a
babysitter—a babysitter! At ten o'clock at night! Well, a woman has to do what a woman has
to do. To think that she would have gone “out” without getting a sitter would be unacceptable.
And irresponsible.
With the sitter secure in front of the TV Betty headed out just anywhere and wound up
near the airport at a hotel with a lounge and a bar, empty except for a guy who agreed to buy
her a drink. He also agreed to fill the gap in her love life up in his room and repeat as neces-
sary. “Hey, he was a twerp, a salesman in a cheap suit. You'd think he'd never been laid. I know
he never had what I gave him—especially not from his wife. Oh, man, he starts calling me,
and then he found out where I live and started parking across the street. He stayed there three
days, till I called the cops. I had to get a restraining order. Man.”
I didn't ask why; she'd made the why of her adventures apparent: because.
Also apparent on that last call from Dallas was that her new man would stick around as
long as her past didn't come sniffing the bushes for more. Maybe he'd said as much or she
