My head felt dull and my eyes were on fire and every fiber of my being was on standby.

I didn't know how much time I had spent looking out the window. The phone rang and I picked up the broom. I dragged my self to the desk and pressed the receiver to my ear:

-Yes, Mickey.-

-Sandra Wallace is in the office and she wants to feel your vertebrae.-

¡Yo, dude!

One minute I was looking at my watch and the next minute I was MARCHING toward six o'clock. I had to make a quick decision:

-Have her enter.-

When Sandra crawled in front of me I already had my penis out for the reception.

She was a woman you could eat like a salad. She had an exuberant vagina that promised vivid hallucinations. ¡How distinct from Elaine!

-Hello, Brad.- She slid my penis in and out of her hand and looked up at me with her Zulu eyes.

-Sandy.- I said, caressing her soft ass. -Take me.-

She took hold of my balls and SQUEEZED:

-¿Like this?- She asked.

-Aiiiiii...- I said in a high-pitched whine.

-I'm so glad your son has some respectability.-

-Thanks.- I replied, praying that my gun was here and all I needed was to find it.

-¿What is it that has three assholes and looks like your dad?- She asked.

-I have pencils to sharpen.- I told her.

-¿For Mr. Brady?- She asked.

I moved my head meaning negative and said:

-No.-

I was so lame at answering questions.

-It's from Mistress Schuyler.- She said, showing me an envelope.

It took me a moment to understand her words. I never did look to my cerebellum for fulfillment.

-¿From Mistress Schuyler?- I said like a komodo dragon. -But she...she's...she's...-

-¿DEAD?- Sandra said sarcastically. -She gave this to me the other day when her body was floating around your apartment.-

-¿How could you possibly get this letter from her?- I asked. -¿What are you, a fucking nut?-

She moved her head meaning negative:

-No, and let go of my thigh.-

I believed her bullshit and took out any words that I didn't believe.

I was so sober that I was about to lie. Instead, I looked at her.

-The first thing I learned was my name. The second was how to brush my teeth.-

I had left out washing my hands. And I left out how Elaine's perfume used to send me to heaven and back until I screamed. I closed my eyes emotionally, if such a thing is possible.

I pulled my dick from her hand. I would've preferred one helluva licking, instead I had been rinsed off like soap.

I looked at Sandy and gave her permission to speak:

-¡You're despicable!- She said.

I was so cute when I laughed:

-Come here.- I contested.

She knew I wanted to go down on her on the divan and instead she gave me a letter. I called her "honey," acted silly and then started leering.

The letter was from Elaine. Her handwriting was serene, without the accusatory excitement of her halcyon days. It had the look of vagina dentata and that sent scribbles down my spine. I had tomato a decision: ¿Should I read it or faint?

      My what a cow you are, Brad:

      From the time you left for the airport until
      the time I regained my personality, I've been
      thinking of you constantly.  I wanted you more
      when I was living but I REALLY like your son
      now that I'm dead.  He's so much more RESPECTABLE
      than you and that's what's important to me.

      For a few precious moments I thought I would come
      all over you as a conclusion.  ¿What can I say?
      I've become insensitive to you and your precious
      penis and I won't sacrifice MY world by making a
      pass at you.  Because in real life daddy-o, mutual
      masturbation is what separates the officers from
      my no-account cousin Anthony.  And my life had
      become just that, an object to be petted or a
      subject the press could part-out like a '69 Opel GT.

      I think that if I HAD THE DICK people would've
      listened to me and not to you or Michelangelo.
      Just because I identify with vagina-toting matriarchs
      and you identify with penis-packing parasites you
      think that the quality of my work is poor and the
      size of my car is small.  In fact, those were the
      first words you spoke to me when I met you.  That I
      was a cataract from hell.  No runs, no hits, two
      errors and my integrity left on base.  And after I
      died my only father drags me to a cemetery and
      throws dirt on me.

      And I had just sent him one of those Popeil's
      Pocket Fishermans.  It was the kind of thing you
      think about doing but never do.  And I did.  And I
      left him my name and number.  I meant to show him
      that I'd always be with him, even after life.

      Then when I visited you and your prickface I got
      the idea that if I could fuck with you in death
      then the guilt I was feeling for my husband and my
      children wouldn't follow me through this life.
      But we couldn't return.  One of us would always
      feel like a caddie to the other.  Either I'd be
      carrying around your ego or you'd be shlepping my
      dead bones.  And at that rate neither of us would
      want to be without the jar of love.  I care for
      David and my kids much more than I care for a toad
      like you.

      It's true.  ¡Wherever I go I'll always think that
      traditional love is what I appreciate much more
      than "Look at me I'm expressing my self!"

      Think about me with luck in your eyes and a rugged
      individualism in your heart.

      Take care,

        Elaine

My eyes were TOTALLY in pain and I was DEEP in sentimentality. I quit being maudlin and took a mean piss. I pissed into the hall.

-That was a pistol, that letter was, yes siree, Sandy.- I said, my voice velcroed with emotion.

She pissed in the hall, mocking me:

-"That was quite a treatise." I knew you were an asshole.-

I breathed over and over and said:

-¡I want you!-

I had never shown such imagination and quick-wittedness since that time my allergies had sent my cerebral cortex packing. Now I could have anyone I EVER wanted. Their blue eyes, their lean noses, their somewhat violet makeup and I especially wanted people who could sleep while I did the big nasty.

Sandra was at the door.

-You have to earn me.- She said. -I promised Aunt Nora that I would star in her production of "¡PINCH ME ALFREDO AND PASS THE HOT SAUCE!"-

-¿Aunt Nora?- I asked, pretending to be mad.

She, as in "uncle":

-Mr. Brady came to our house for a conjugal visit and told Aunt Nora to sit down, which wasn't funny, and take me as her own daughter. I had been living in her house as a temporary.-

A sunrise of curiosity swelled in her labia:

-¿I asked my self what is it that has two dilating pupils, a penis and is named Brady? And I TOTALLY had the answer. It was a person in a tan fedora who sold hoes in Canoga Park.-

-A lot like me, Sandy.- I said and in came the terrordome to welcome me and my delusions. -From now on, you're my sweet Adelaine and I'll pray for your soul.-

Sandy knew that my offer to save her soul was sincere, it was just that she's such a FINE LITTLE GIRL.

I kissed her and said:

-Go by God, Sandy.-

The door closed without a trace of her. I dragged my self to the window and laid it bare. It was quiet for a moment. And then I ripped Elaine's letter into a trillion little pieces and ran screaming without luck in my eyes.

That was THE END. But it was also one more life experience for me.

I was as distant as most men whose olive oil businesses were fronts for their desperation, for their inability to look inside themselves for compassion and sensitivity.

Now I knew better.

I couldn't return to those manly days when a watch and a tie meant as much to me as Marge and the kids.

I felt alive because now I knew that Elaine could speak to me from the dead...And logie on me whenever she wanted. That was serious shit. The cold air sat me on my haunches and pulled at my knees. There was a certain pleasure in that. I repeated the word "Elaine" until I wanted a life about as much as I wanted a house.

The first cop-out was always temporary. Embezzling wasn't the career for me if I couldn't grab a piece of ass in a car. All I wanted was for my tongue to send someone hollering, sinking their nails into my back. Instead I opened the garage door, sent in the car and contemplated my entire life.

All the windows were open including the last ¼ of Brad's room. I knew I was in for a helluva spanking and hoped it wouldn't turn my ass the color purple.

Dad's cab was parked in front of the door. I sallied through the cab of the cab, through the front door and into a giraffe. It sneezed as I looked up at it. It was a man in costume. Everyone was in costume. I went into the room and asked to be introduced to the giraffe.

¡Oh come on Jeanie, grab me a giraffe!

-¡Papa! ¡Papa!- It was Jeanie.

I sat on the couch and she knew that I was as sober as I had ever been. She kissed me literaturely on the hoo-hah.

-¿How are my minions?- I asked

-¡They taste good with peanut butter!- She contested, so excited her voice sounded like a banjo conspiracy theory I had once heard: It seems this donkey with olive fingers made a pass at Marge because she had said, "¡I'll try anyone boy enough to reload after shooting!"

I decided that the donkey was stabbing me in the back and exclaimed:

-¡OH MY GOD! ¡What man hath joined together let no donkey dick plow into! That's from Catullus, not the Book of Job.-

I laid right down and laid down sunrise as the only excuse to get up. I'd probably have my dick out and Marge would think it was my watch and start winding it. And Jeanie wouldn't let me sleep, nobody would.

-It's okay.- I said and caressed Jeanie's nose. -I don't need nothing from Marge.-

I had left my brazenness and my dentures in the car and realized there would be no heavy petting and no pussy underneath my cock. I started drooling and put my hand to my mouth and sucked the spittle back in. I left my new shoes in the cement and was about to start a life that hadn't yet passed before my eyes.

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