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world of Coke bylines when she says, “I knew we could do it, Scat. I knew we could pull you out of this one.”
    “Yeah,” I say absently. I have started to wonder about the beach: about variations on a giant inflatable beach ball. I am thinking about this ball rolling through a major American city, with people running and screaming.
    Cindy walks around the table to face me. There’s a strange expression on her face, and it’s so unfamiliar that it’s a second before I recognize it. Then it dawns: Cindy is looking at me as if she is impressed.
    “Cindy—”
    “ Scat , ”Cindy says, her eyes shining.
    “Whoa, Cindy.” I abruptly realize that this is going to turn very ugly very quickly. “I think ... we need to talk.”
    “ I think,” Cindy says, smiling, “that it’s past Scat’s bedtime.” She fingers the buttons on her uniform.
    “Cindy—” I search for the words I need: words to tell her how much she’s helped me, how much I appreciate everything she’s done to rebuild me over the past three months, and how that means I don’t need her anymore.
    “Cindy,” I say gently, “I’m back.”

cindy rebuts
    By the time I get downstairs, most of my stuff is already strewn over the lawn. I try to catch the remainder as it sails down from the second-floor apartment window.
    “Son of a whore!” Cindy screams.
    “I’m sorry!” I grab my jeans before they drop into the gutter. Somewhere in the night a dog barks happily.
    “Bastard!”
    I look up, but nothing else seems to be on its way. I collect as many of my clothes as I can and wrap them into a manageable bundle. When I look up again, I catch a glimpse of Cindy peering through the blinds.
    “I’ll call you!” I shout. It’s pathetic, but I can’t think of an alternative.
    I’m halfway down the street and wondering where the hell I’m going when Cindy’s reply drifts to me on the hot night breeze.
    “Okay ...”

6
    So, once again, I am homeless.

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Saturday night in the big city
    I realize very quickly that I’ll have to call on 6’s assistance for accommodation. Since I happen to be doing her a tremendous favor at this time, I figure my chances should be pretty good.
    However, since it’s nearly four, I decide to wait until morning to call her. I trudge around the backstreets of Santa Monica for three hours, past countless alleys, doorways and small inviting parks, all of which are already occupied by people with tight grips on bundles of clothes even smaller than mine. At dawn, I’m so exhausted and desperate for a shower that I can’t wait any longer, and I find a pay phone, dial 6’s number and hope.
    She picks up on the fourth ring. “Hello?” Her voice is like honey smeared across velvet pajamas.
    “6! It’s Scat. Gorgeous morning, huh?”
    There is a pause. “Hello, Scat,” she says cautiously.
    “6, there are some things we need to discuss,” I tell her importantly. “How about I come over?”
    “You, come here?” 6 says, alarmed.
    I quickly recheck my words in my head, to make sure they didn’t come out: Let’s make mad passionate love. I’m pretty sure they didn’t. “Uh, yeah.”
    “No.”
    “Oh.” This puts a dent in my plan: I had expected to get in the front door. I tremble briefly on the verge of asking her why I can’t visit, then chicken out. “Oh. Then ... somewhere else?” I look around. “How about a coffee on the beach? I’m at Watchers in Santa Monica.”
    “Fine,” 6 says, and hangs up.
    I put down the phone. “Okay,” I tell myself. “Okay.”
    It feels good to be okay.

scat and 6 go to the beach
    I decide to sit on the stone wall separating the sidewalk from the beach so I can see 6 drive up. I’m very interested