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I ran into Anne a few years after mother died, while buying bread on University Avenue for my hotel room while in Palo Alto for a talk on one of my books. Anne begged me to come to her new place and screw her again, but I told her I had Anna-Maria with me who would also come, and she got cold feet. That was the last time I saw Anne. I heard from my next spiritual partner, Heather, who was bi, and loved sex with Betsy too, that Anne had finally gone back to the east coast when her parents, who had discovered her habits and terrible living conditions, sent her home to Boston and put her to work as a waitress at her uncle's restaurant. Heather was the fist girl that had liked me that made me feel normal the way that Eugenia had all those years ago. At the time we met at the main library on campus, Heather was an undergraduate in her sophomore year at Stanford. I told her over lunch at the Garage, about my thesis when I had been a student and the books that I had written. Heather. He flipped through the pages, not really reading anything, but engrossed in it, as though in deep remembrance. “This is the most beautiful book that I've ever read. Is it yours?” A yes is all that I could muster. He set the book down carefully, as if it was a priceless possession. “I think you and this book are the same thing. Beautiful.” He whispers to me, his eyes still trained on the book, his fingers running soft lines on the cover. “I have to tell you the truth, the only thing inside my head today, was you. I knew you were looking at me earlier. That's when I knew. Everything after that, I did to be alone with you. To talk. You're the first person to know about me, Oliver. The first.” “And what's that?” I croaked out, knowing the answer already, my nerves bleating painfully while my head rode the Tilt-A-Whirl. “I believe you already know that answer” He said, smiling at me, finally piercing me again with the luscious brown orbs of his eyes. He walked up to me, still sitting on.
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