Текст книги "The Girl Of Tokens and Tears"

Автор книги: Susan Ward

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

CHAPTER EIGHT

I sit in the passenger seat of the Volvo, staring at Rene as she fights her way through traffic toward campus.

“When are you going to get over this? It’s been four months, Rene. I’m really tired of you being pissed at me.”

Rene’s eyes flash. “How about when you have Neil move out?”

“Why do you dislike Neil so much?”

“I just do.”

“He’s a really nice guy. You could cut him some slack. You don’t have to stomp around being rude to him every chance you get.”

Rene stares at me, her eyes intense. “He’s a moocher. He’s using you. And like all guys, he’ll stick around when he needs you and walk away when he doesn’t.”

The legacy of Mr. Thompson here in the car with us today, coloring Rene’s opinion of Neil.

I sigh. “He’s not like that.”

“All guys are like that,” Rene snaps.

“Why don’t you like him? For once, just tell me why.”

She lets out a long, hard breath. “I don’t like him.”

“You don’t need to like him. I like him,” I say, more than a little miffed.

“I don’t trust any guy who doesn’t check me out.”

Oh jeez, not that again.

She’s so damn female-competitive. It’s indisputable that Rene is drop dead gorgeous with her dark hair, dark eyes, perfect olive complexion, and long limbed five-foot-nine frame. Why does she need every guy on the planet confirming that for her?

“Neil isn’t a jerk. Probably because he has three younger sisters. He doesn’t ogle girls in that jerk way most guys do.”

“Ha.” Her eyes widen, sparkly and disapproving. “All guys look. All guys check. I don’t trust a guy who doesn’t.”

“Alan never checked you out,” I say before I can stop myself.

She stares at me, arching a brow. “I don’t like Alan Manzone either.”

“You don’t like any guy who has an interest in me.”

There. It had to be said.

Her eyes go wide like an over-inflated bullfrog. She clamps her mouth shut and fixes her stare on the road.

I look out the window. This conversation is going nowhere. There is no point in repeating it. I repeat it anyway. “You should be happy for me. That’s what a really good friend would do. Be happy for me because I’m happy.”

She makes an angry jerk with her hand to flip on the turn signal. “I’m a really good friend, Chrissie. I care about you first. I can’t be happy over this. There is something about Neil I don’t like.”

She pulls over to the curb to let me out. I gather my things and then open the car door.

“I’m out of here the day after finals. I’ve decided to spend the summer traveling the UK with my mother,” she announces through the open passenger door.

Well, that’s mature, Rene. Ditch me for three months to reinforce that you’re unhappy with me. As if it’s not obvious 24/7.

I don’t say anything.

Finally, “What are you going to do this summer?” she asks.

I shrug. “Stay in Berkeley. I need to take summer classes if we’re going to graduate together. I can’t do twenty units a semester like you do.”

She gives me a look that screams bullshit. She shakes her head. “You should go home to Santa Barbara. Cool things down for a while. You’re moving too fast with Neil, Chrissie.  But you never take my advice. Have fun all summer with Neil.”

My brows hitch up. “Have fun with Patty.”

Her eyes flash, and I regret that comment. Rene’s relationship with her mother isn’t any less emotionally complex than her relationship with her father. All of Rene’s relationships, except her one-night stands, are emotionally complex.

She does a slow shake of her head and looks away first. I close the door and watch her speed off.

I cut across campus to the concrete slabs with the statues of the bears, the place where Neil and I reconnected at Cal.

I spot him casually sitting on the slabs, long legs dangling—customary work clothes, boots, and bandana covering his unruly waves of chestnut hair—smoking a cigarette. I notice that more the few girls check him out even in his easy to identify janitor uniform. Janitor or not, Neil is a gorgeous guy.

I stop, standing between his legs, and lift my face for him to kiss me. I ease back, looking up at him. “Have you been waiting long?”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Nope. Five minutes.”

He slips off the concrete and takes my hand. We start to walk toward the food court.

“I’ve only got a half-hour for lunch today,” he says.

“Why’s that?”

“I want to get off early. There’s some junk I’ve got to do.”

Junk? Why always so private, Neil.

“Good junk or bad junk?” I ask.

He shrugs and doesn’t answer me.

I make a face at him as he opens the door to our hippie vibe natural café. I don’t know why we eat here. Neither of us are vegan or vegetarian.

We order our food and settle on a patio table.

“I have to go see my probation officer,” he says unexpectedly halfway through lunch.

I look up from my sandwich. “Everything is OK, right?”

Neil leans back in his chair. “When I got paid last week I paid off the last of my fees and fines. I’m supposed to get the paperwork today confirming that my probation has terminated. My PO suggests that I carry it with me. That it takes time, sometimes, for court records to update. So I should carry it with me if I decide to go back to Seattle.”

He’s done with probation. He’s free to go back to Seattle; back to the band and his life.

“That’s great news,” I say, pleased that my voice sounds happy for him and not at all like I feel.

“Yep, even if I’m still a janitor. Only now I’m a broke janitor. Cleaned me out. Every cent. But a fucking relief to have it done with.”

“So what do you want to do now?”

He laughs. “Honestly? I’d love to have a beer and smoke a bowl tonight.”

“Very funny. I was talking big picture. Be serious.”

Neil shakes his head, amused. “I’m serious. I keep forgetting you’ve lived a completely sheltered life. Probation does random drug tests. I’ve had random drug tests for twelve months. I haven’t been able to drink or get lit once. Not if I didn’t want to risk having my probation revoked.”

“Oh.” I’ve wondered why he never drinks. It was silly of me not just to ask him.

He points at my lunch. “Are you done?”

I nod. He collects our trash and tosses it away. We walk back onto campus. We stop at the concrete bears again.

I feel Neil’s eyes on me, studying my face.

“You OK? You’re really quiet, Chrissie.”

I smile. “Just a lot on my mind with finals coming up next week.”

“Speaking of Rene,” he says in that Rene is a pain in the ass tone of voice he has.

“We weren’t speaking of Rene,” I point out, interrupting him.

“I’m sorry having me around gives you so much shit with her. I try to keep everything chill. It’s impossible.”

“It’s not your problem. It’s hers.” I stare up at him. “Besides, guess who’s going to be gone for the entire summer?”

Neil’s eyes widen and then start to shimmer. “Oh, please don’t be messing with me. Three months without Rene? You better not be messing with me.”

I smile. “She’s spending the entire summer with her mother. She leaves the day after her finals.”

He laughs. He sets his nose to mine. “We can fuck without someone pounding on the wall acting like the sound police,” he whispers. “You can make your little squeaks without her getting pissed off the next morning. If we’re on the couch and want to do it, we just can.”

I blush and toss him a playful glare. “I don’t squeak.”

“Yes, you do. It’s such a turn-on. It’s giving me a boner just thinking about it.”

He pulls me into him for a deep, open-mouthed kiss that makes my blood start to pump warmly again.

Neil steps back. “I’ll probably be home before you’re done with class.”

I smile. “OK.”

He makes a lush sigh. “God, I can’t wait to have sex without Rene in the next room.” He checks his watch. “I’ve got to get back to work.”

I stand by the concrete bears, watching Neil disappear across campus. Neil wouldn’t be happy about Rene taking off for the summer if he wasn’t planning on staying here in Berkeley.

~~~

I should be studying.

My head sways and I move my body slowly up Neil’s erection. I stop just before he’s out of me, planting my hands on his chest and opening my eyes to look down at him. His face is flushed, passion-taunt, in that way he has when he really wants to cum and is fighting not to.

I slam down, taking him as deep as I can. He groans and my muscles clench, getting wetter. I love when I ride him. I can make myself come when I ride him. It doesn’t happen when he controls the fucking, but it always does when I fuck him.

I do another glide up. Another slam down.  I’m there, on the edge. I do a slow swirl of my hips, keeping him buried as deeply as I can. I reach for his hand, guiding him to clutch my nipples in a way so that it’s the callused tips pinching and stroking me. I move again.

My head goes back. Heat runs across my surface. “Ah…Ah…Ah…”punctuates my breaths as I shake with my climax.

I’m panting, consumed by shudders, my limbs too weak to support me. Neil lifts up, propped on an arm stretched behind him, his other arm encircling my waist as he pounds into me. Harder and harder with each thrust. They’re gloriously painful.

I’m no longer here. My body has no sensation. Every part of me is numbed by fucking, and I’m nothing in this brief moment but tissue and bone Neil thrusts into.

His face presses against my neck beneath my hair. His tempo builds. His breath is warm and rapid.

Everything in his body tenses. “Oh, Chrissie…I love you…” He erupts, spilling into me. “I love you…”

~~~

I sit on the bed in my Cal t-shirt trying to focus on my text-book.

Neil is naked and reclining beside me. He’s been sitting there for over an hour, just picking at something on his guitar.

I look at him. “I have a final tomorrow. Can you go into the living room if you want to play? It’s very distracting.”

He sets down the guitar. “Ah, so you’re finally talking.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t said a word since we fucked.”

I make an exasperated face and then look down at my book. “I need to study.”

He leans in and brushes my lower lip with his thumb.

“Why are you pissed at me, Chrissie?”

I take in a deep breath. “I’m not pissed.”

Neil’s brows go up. “Bullshit, Chrissie. I know you better than that.”

I struggle to hold back my words and emotions. Finally, I toss the book away.

I don’t look at him. “Don’t say that you love me. Not even in that bullshit way guys say while screwing. I don’t want you to say you love me.”

He sits up then, more than a little perplexed. He frowns. “It’s not bullshit, Chrissie. I do love you.”

I can feel Neil studying my face. I suck in my lower lip, biting it hard, and shake my head.

He turns my chin so I have no choice but to meet his eyes. “God, you’re really frustrating at times. I just told you I love you. Don’t you have anything to say?”

I stare at him, pretending not to comprehend him.

“Chrissie? Do you love me?”

I make an aggravated shake of my head. My eyes go wide. “Fine. Yes, I love you.”

“Jeez, why can’t you just say it without making even that difficult?” He folds me against his chest, kissing my hair, my brow, and my cheeks.  “Why don’t you want me to say I love you?”

I kiss his jaw. I curl into his chest.

“I’m fucked up that way,” I whisper.

Neil shakes his head. “You’re not fucked up in any way.”

He lies back on the bed with me draped atop him. There’s a sweet kind of expression on his face and his eyes are warm as he stares at me. I muster a smile and lay my cheek on his chest.

If I’m not fucked up, Neil, why did I just tell you I love you when I don’t?

CHAPTER NINE

Summer 1990…

I park in the carport and reach over to the passenger seat to grab my purse.

I’ve just spent two frustrating hours stuck in traffic from San Francisco Airport. Why can’t Rene book her flights out of Oakland? She can be so thoughtless at times.

I make my way to the elevator. I’ve got two weeks off before summer classes begin, a Rene-free condo, and I’m going to make the most of it. When the doors open on the top floor, a blast of music rolls down the hallway.

I rush into the condo, spot Neil lying on the couch, eyes closed, and without asking I turn down the volume. “Neil, you’re going to get us in trouble with the management company.”  I start picking up the junk shattered across the floor. I see a stack of demo tapes scattered by my sound system. I pick one up. I turn to Neil with my hand outstretched. “What is this?”

Neil sits up on the couch.

“Two weeks ago Josh brought down from Seattle some instrument tracks the band has been working on.”

Two weeks ago? That was about the same time Neil told me he’d finished his probation.

“Josh was here in Berkeley? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Neil shrugs. “I don’t know. Didn’t seem important at the time. The band has a new guitarist, Les Wilson. I don’t know him. He’s from Laguna Beach. His band just broke up. They’re looking for a front man. Josh wanted me to work on some lyrics.”

I sink down on my knees beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were working on this?”

Neil shrugged. “Wanted to think it through on my own.”

I stare. “Think through what?”

Neil sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Josh and the guys. There’s a lot of history there. A lot of shit that wasn’t good. They’re not sure they want me. Josh made that clear. Still, he wanted to see what I could do with the instrument tracks.” He shrugs. “I sent some tapes back to them this morning. We’ll see what happens. Maybe nothing will happen.”

“How many tracks did you finish?”

“Fourteen.”

Fourteen? This must have taken up every free minute he had for the last two weeks, and for some reason he deliberately didn’t share this with me.

I feel my body flood with a chill and uncontained hurt unfurls within me.

He leans in and kisses me. “Let’s go down to the beach. I can smoke a bowl. You can tell me not to. And then maybe I’ll get laid.”

He pulls me up until we’re lying on the couch with me on top of him. I exhale a long breath that does nothing to calm my inner distress. “Forget the beach and the weed, Neil. Why don’t we just stay here?”

~~~

I walk home from the campus bookstore.

Taking only two classes in summer definitely makes it easier to lug the books home. I hurry across the street, away from Cal, then up the shaded road to the condo complex.

I spot Neil’s van in the parking lot. He’s home from work early. He hardly ever gets home this early. I step into the elevator, hit the button with my elbow, and wait for the world’s slowest set of doors to close.

After more time than seems necessary, the metal springs open on the top floor. I hurry down the hall. Struggling to balance my books in my arms, I manage to get the key in the lock, turn it, and push the door open with my leg.

I dump everything on the floor as I kick off my shoes. I step into the kitchen just as Neil hangs up the phone.

I cross the room and give him a kiss. “You beat me home. That’s a nice surprise. Why are you home early?”

“Josh wants me to come up to Seattle for a week,” he says. “Jam with the guys. See how it works. What we can create. Maybe do a live gig.”

I sink down on a chair in front of the table.

“That’s great, Neil. How long will you be in Seattle?”

I force a smile and wait while he collects his thoughts.

He sits down at the table across from me. “Why don’t you come with me, Chrissie? There is no reason why you have to stay in Berkeley. I don’t want to go up there without you.”

I sit back. “I can’t, Neil. My classes start soon.”

“They don’t start until next week.  I told Josh I want to go right into the studio. No messing around. Get to work and get out of there.”

“I’ve got to be back by next Monday, Neil. I can’t miss even one day in summer school or the class will drop me.”

He rakes a hand through his hair. “We’ll be back in time. I probably can’t push calling in sick to work for more than a week without getting fired, Chrissie.”

Two hours later, we’re on a flight from Oakland to Seattle.

Once we land, we go to the baggage claim area to grab our suitcases and Neil’s guitar, and then make a rushed detour to the rental car counter. We make a fast stop at our hotel to check in, dump our bags, and thirty minutes later we’re making our way across the city again.

Neil has been in a strange mood since we boarded the plan. Anxious and quiet in a way I’ve not seen before. For a guy who wanted me along with him this week, he couldn’t be any more remote if he tried. It feels like being in Seattle affects him in some deep, emotional way.

History with the band? Shit? Or maybe this is where his ex-girlfriend is from? I wonder what parts of Neil’s life in Seattle he hasn’t yet shared with me. He’s a careful guy about what he  discloses about himself, and never more vague than about his ex. Jeez, we’ve been together  six months, if you count it from the day he found me crying outside the music department, and I still don’t know her name. Shouldn’t I know her name by now?

I ignore Neil’s silence and just stare out the car window. I’ve never been to Seattle before. It would be nice to get to see a little of it. Our hotel is near Pike Street Market. Other than the Space Needle, I don’t know what else is supposed to be interesting here.

As I watch Neil maneuver our rental car through streets that don’t look at all like anything in Southern California, it’s obvious he knows his way around here. He can probably tell me what else is worth seeing in this city.

I stare up through the car window at the city lights. It’s a pretty city and it edges the Pacific. In a lot of ways Neil is like me. I can’t imagine either of us living away from the ocean. When he’s not at his job, working on his music, or in bed with me, he’s at the beach surfing.

Neil parks in front of a dilapidated building that sells art supplies. Josh Moss rented the basement as rehearsal space. The street looks a lot less safe than the one where our hotel is located.

Josh is leaning against a brick wall smoking a cigarette. I’ve only seen him the one time, that night at Peppers, but I didn’t remember he was such a good looking guy. Though I really don’t like his long, wiry build. Definitely more Rene’s type than mine.

Neil says, “I don’t know how long this will be tonight, Chrissie. Whenever you want to cut out, take the car. I’ll have one of the guys drive me back to the hotel.”

“OK.”

I watch him open his door and climb from driver’s seat. I wonder if, now that he has me here, he’s changed his mind about me sticking around.

Neil walks around the car and opens my door. Strange, but the two guys haven’t even said hello to each other yet. I wait at the curb, feeling awkward, as Neil retrieves his guitar and Josh just stands there smoking and staring at me.

Finally, Josh pushes up from the wall and tosses his cigarette into the road. “The convict is back,” he says.

“Fuck you, Josh,” Neil says, but he’s smiling.

Then they’re hugging each other in that guy way, hard pats and a firm clutch. They shake each other and then step back.

“You look good, man. You good?” Josh asks, taking in Neil with a thorough glance. The way he says that makes it sound more significant than a casual inquiry.

Neil nods. “It’s all good, Josh. Nothing to worry about. Like I said on the phone, I’m here to work. Then I’m going back to Berkeley with Chrissie.”

Josh shakes his head. “You had me fucking worried there for a while.”

Neil tilts his head toward the building. “Did the rest of guys send you up here to make sure I wasn’t a fucking nut-case before you let me through the doors?”

I listen to the conversation, trying not to let expression surface on my face. Nut case? What the heck does that mean? Neil is the farthest thing from crazy I know.

Josh laughs, lighting another cigarette. “Yep. Told them you looked good when I saw you in Berkeley. They’re not sure about you yet. You fucked up Andy pretty bad. Everyone is still blown away about that, trying to figure out what set you off enough to fuck up him enough to put him in the hospital. Fuck, Neil, we’ve all been friends since grade school. Why the hell did you fuck him up instead of talking to me?”

Andy? My eyes search Neil face. He’s tense and edgy with anger. Andy…and then I remember the night at Peppers, the guy Neil was pissed at, the guy who stared at me so strangely while I danced with Neil. Is that the same Andy? The guy Neil caught in bed with his girlfriend? Getting fucked over by a friend; is that why Neil flipped out and did such a non-Neil thing?

Josh’s eyes sharpen on Neil’s face. “Andy is back in Seattle. Did you know that?”

Neil shakes his head, but his tension intensifies. “I don’t talk to that fucker and I never will.”

“There are not going to be any problems are there? There’s no way to avoid him here.”

Their eyes lock in an intense stare, full of meaning I can’t begin to decipher.

“Like I said, I’m here for a week to see what we can put together, but I’m not moving back. I’ll come here to work. I’ll go on the road. Nothing more. Then I’m back in Berkeley with Chrissie.”

I’m startled out of my thoughts by the feel of Josh Moss’s eyes on me. He says, “I know you. We hung out together once. You have a friend. Rene? Right?”

I flush, but before I can say anything Neil laughs and gives Josh a little shove in the chest. “You’re such a prick. I told you not to mention that to Chrissie. Not cool, man. Don’t fuck with my girlfriend.”

For the first time Josh smiles at me. “I’m just messing with you, Chrissie. Rene was hot. I was hoping you could give me her number.” His gaze shifts to Neil. “Girlfriend, huh? You didn’t tell me this when I was in Berkeley.”

“I didn’t think it mattered in making a decision to let me rejoin the band. Is there a problem?”

Josh moves to open the store door. He shakes his head. “Neil Stanton and Chrissie Parker.”

The tic twitches in Neil’s cheek. “Don’t say it like it’s fucked up.”

Neil’s sudden temper and the tone of his voice send an instant chill through me.

Josh freezes and turns to look at Neil. “Don’t be so fucking intense. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You better not have,” Neil counters harshly. “Chrissie goes pretty much everywhere I go. If it’s going to be a problem, you tell me now.”

Something in their exchange makes me flush. I stare at Neil, but he doesn’t look at me.

Josh shrugs loosely. “No problem, Neil. You just surprised me.”

They start walking. I tug on Neil’s shirt. He stops.

I stare up at him. “What was that all about?”

Neil jerks a hand through his hair. He’s very agitated right now about something.

“Nothing. Josh is an asshole sometimes. Blow off anything he says.”

“OK.” But I don’t really get what just happened here. It feels strange, disturbingly so, even though I can’t make sense of it. I stare up at Neil. “Andy. That’s your friend from Santa Barbara, right?”

Neil nods.

My eyes widen. “Why did you leave that part out when you told me about the guy you beat up in San Francisco?”

Neil shrugs. “It wasn’t important.”

“Getting screwed over by a friend is kind of a significant part.”

“Jeez, Chrissie. Stop with the fucking third degree.”

My body goes cold. I take a slight step back from him. He feels peculiar.

Neil’s shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I’m really tense right now. Can we just wait to do this until I’m done here?”

Neil walks off toward the basement. At the bottom of a narrow flight of stairs is a storage room filled with canvas, paints, and raw materials. The basement is dark and dirty, the scent of the air has an unpleasant odor of cleaning supplies and dust, but the area is large and the equipment is already set up.

I’ve seen everyone in the room once before except the lead guitarist, Les Wilson. They were part of Neil’s gang at Peppers the night we met and later, part of the upstairs party we went to for Kurt. Old friends. A Santa Barbara mob. It makes the tension in the room that entered with Neil a doubly odd thing.

Nate Kassel, drumsticks in hand, gives Neil a wraparound arm pat and then a lift of his chin toward me. Pat Larsen is a little friendlier in greeting Neil, but not much. And Les, their new lead guitarist, isn’t really a part of this tight knit group from Santa Barbara, so he’s sort of just here, like I’m.

I sink down onto an old, dirty couch pushed up against a wall of shelving and, for once, I’m grateful I’ve been rapidly forgotten in a room. The strain between the guys is palpable. It almost looks like none of them know how to act around Neil. So strange. Calm, smiling Neil is the awkwardness in the room.

It isn’t long before they’re plugged in, playing and really gelling. Neil started with this band. That’s the way they’re playing, like musicians who have played together forever. And there’s definitely something in the music they create. Something raw, powerful, uniquely their own.

Four hours later, they’re still jamming. I move to lie on a pillow. My lids drift open and closed, over and over again. Sleep tugs at me even though I’m emotionally messy. It doesn’t matter what shit Neil brought with him to Seattle; Neil’s band is a band again.

~~~

I am exhausted. Our six days in Seattle have moved at a grueling tempo. Hours in the rehearsal space. Sex. Late nights in the thriving music scene here. Sleep. Then the cycle all over again, numbing me until I can’t feel, too tired even to sleep.

The band played their first live gig together in an old theater that looked as though, at one time, it had been scarred by fire. The corridors, the performance area, everything had been packed. Normally this kind of nightmare I would avoid—new places, new people—but it wasn’t a difficult thing for me. And I’m glad I went. Neil and the guys were amazing live, on stage.

It feels like everyone here is sort of different, an outsider probably everywhere but here. By extension it makes everyone belong.  Being strange, being different, is normal in this underground world of hungry and creative musicians. It’s a surprisingly good feeling to feel I belong simply by being here. The easiness of it all is seductive. I understand why Neil loves life here. It’s so different from what my life has always been in the judgmental world of money and pretty rich girls.

In spite of the first day’s tension, everything else has rolled in an easy flow. Neil is subjected to the occasional jeer about having fucked-up Andy. Good-humored taunts about his jail thing always flitter through the air wherever we are. But for the most part, it’s the music and the scene everyone focuses on in this alternate universe of not normal.

There is only one moment I would label bad if I had the strength to write in my journal today. In the corridor after Arctic Hole’s fist live gig—Arctic Hole, the name of Neil’s recreated band, was lifted from a joke he made about jail being an arctic hole—I came face-to-face with Andy. He just showed up out of nowhere and was there; cocky, long blond hair, an unattractively small and thin guy with blues eyes, always staring with a glint that makes it obvious he’s an asshole. He didn’t seem at all like a guy who would have ever been a friend of Neil’s.

I didn’t really want to talk to Andy. There is something in the way he looks at me that puts my nerves on edge. But he started talking to me and I didn’t know how to get away from him.

When Neil spied us from across the room during the after performance party, something changed on his face. Jealousy over me? Hatred of Andy? I couldn’t tell for sure. The mixture of anger and other emotions was something new and strange on Neil.

I thought they were going to come to blows right there in front of half of Seattle. It was an ugly scene. Neil snarling in Andy’s face for him to stay away from me. Then dragging me, like a caveman, from the party, barking at me: You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You don’t go near Andy.

Neil’s nerve in ordering me had my temper fully lit by the time we got back to our hotel room. We would have had an enormous fight, except Neil had me on the bed the second we stepped into the room. The sex was pounding, emotionally void, rough, and painful. It was messed up, but it made my blood boil; the unrestrained acts of his body.

I curl into the blankets. It’s been an intense week. Tomorrow we’re supposed to return to Berkeley. It’s our last day here. I wonder when Neil is going to tell me we’re over and he’s not leaving Seattle with me.