He was not starry-eyed but horny. He had not been with a woman in a long time. They cost money. They’d have to wait. But she was free. He didn’t have to buy her a drink, dinner. Indeed, she’d offered, during intercourse, to take him to a restaurant! She was passive, detached as he worked away. He liked her hair, long, straight, spreading like rays, like a halo on the blanket under the trees in Golden Gate Park on an evening in mid-July 1971. Afterward he wanted to wash, talk a little, maybe make a date to do it again. She just wanted to leave—like someone coming into court to pay a parking ticket, “You got my p*****t, now let me out of here!”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Ty said. He felt bewildered.
She carried the blanket, paced steadily toward her father’s Oldsmobile, barely glanced back.
“W
