make money.

The long hours to the city brought another thought: I didn't have enough rupees to pay for the taxi all the way there! Damn! And I'd arrive too late for the bank. Shit! I'd have to see Neal after all. Just for one minute. I'd stop by his hotel, collect money for the cab, and leave. One minute, that was all. Where did he say he'd be? The Ritz? I hoped he'd found a room.

It wasn't raining nearly as hard in Bombay as it had been in Goa. Streets were flooded, but city life went on. I had the taxi stop in front of the Ritz and rushed in to see if Neal was registered. He was.

One minute. I'd only spend one minute with him.

He answered my knock with a grin. 'Well, hi, cutie. I knew you'd show up soon. No fun in the monsoon by yourself, huh?'

'I need money to pay the taxi.'

'You took a taxi from Goa?'

'Just give me the money and let me go.'

'Don't go. Stay here. Where are you going, anyway?'

'To the Rex Hotel. I'm going to find a run and put my life in order.'

'Yes? Well, that's nice. But don't go to the Rex. Stay here until you leave. It's cheaper than paying for your own room. Be good. I promise.'

'I don't trust you. Come on. Give me two hundred rupees.'

'I'll give you the money, but stay a while. Have a few lines before you go.'

'No. I just want to go.'

It took him so long to give me the rupees that my resolve broke. My coke had run out. I would have loved a snoot before setting off on my quest.

'Okay. I'll pay the driver and come up for a while. But only a little while.'

I didn't bring my bags to his room but left them in the Lobby.

We sat around all day coking out and, as usual while in coke heaven, I eventually forgot I hated him. CLICK, CLICK, SCRAPE, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

'Oh, my shot!' I said suddenly. 'And I didn't have one yesterday.'

Since the time with Sasha, we'd been taking the vitamin B intravenously. It gave such a sweet rush, what a shame to waste it in a muscle. To spice it up even more, we'd been adding a pinch of coke. So, every other day we'd fixed one hit of coke mixed with vitamin B. Sometimes we did two days in a row of vitamin B.

Neal gave me the shot and then noted, 'We should sterilize these needles. Why don't we ask room service for boiling water?'

Good idea, but the Indian waiter couldn't understand what we wanted. He came up with a cooking pot brimming with water.

'It's cold,' I said, dipping in a finger. 'I want the water hot. For cleaning.'

When Neal showed him the works and the vitamin B ampoules, the Indian seemed to get the picture. He smiled and nodded and motioned for Neal to deposit the works in the pot.

'Acha. Boil,' he said. 'I boil.'

He put the lid on the pot and left for the kitchen.

Did he really understand? we wondered.

A while later, the waiter returned with the pot and lifted the cover to reveal steam wafting from our floating works. Amazing! Bombay must he the only city in the world where one can send a syringe to be sterilized by room service.

We laughed heartily. Inevitably, Neal convinced me to stay in his room.

It turned out Bombay still had scores of Goa Freaks. The Italians were at the Nataraj Hotel, the Birmingham Boys at the Sea View, Mental at Bentley's, Kadir at the Rex; nobody had seen Serge. Though everyone had left Goa with the good intentions of a speedy departure from India, many had succumbed to Bombay Syndrome. The continuous party went from one hotel room to another, into the Opium dens, the Ambassador Hotel restaurant, the Colaba movie house.

One afternoon, something strange happened as Neal and I taxied to Bompti Road to score coke. I watched him lean over to speak to the driver, and a warm feeling washed over me.

Could it be?

I stretched out a hand to touch his back. He turned to me, surprised.

'You're not going to believe this,' I said. 'I don't believe this.'

'What?'

I studied his face. 'My goodness.'

'What? What is it?' he asked.

'I can't understand.'

'What?'

'I think I love you again.'

He shook his bangs and smiled. 'Oh.'

I touched his hair. 'Does this mean I always loved you?'

'I knew that.' He giggled.

I wrapped an arm around his neck. 'Was Serge right, then? I don't understand anything.'

The rest of that day, plus the two following clays, were wonderful. Neel and I were together again. When he went out, I couldn't wait for him to return. I jumped on his skinny body every chance I had.

One day, walking hand in hand past a traffic circle called the Fountain, we suddenly remembered our old scam.

'AUNT SATHE!' I wailed. 'We never found out what happened to Aunt Sathe!'

We rushed down the block to American Express to check for mail. We found a telegram from Aunt Sathe. A very distressed telegram. It had been lying there a long time. 'Oh, shit.'

'What does she say?'

'It's from Bermuda. She doesn't know what's going on. Lila didn't show up at the airport. She's going nuts thinking something happened to me. Oh, no. Didn't we send a telegram to Bermuda?'

'Didn't we? I don't remember. We should have.'

'Oh, poor Aunt Sathe. I feel terrible.'

'We sent one to Wilkes-Barre. I remember that.'

'She wasn't sure who was coming, me or Lila. She must have thought I'd been arrested.'

'I wonder what happened to Lila, then. Do you think she ran away with our suitcases?'

'What a mess. I have to write Aunt Sathe right away. What do I tell her?'

He put his arm around my shoulder to comfort me, and we kissed in the lobby of American Express. Then we returned to the hotel to kiss, snort, and shoot our vitamin B cocktail.

The next day we fought.

How had happened? We were finally alone together and in love—we shouldn't have been fighting. Why was he doing little things to make me angry? With no Eve, no baby, and no paddy field to trudge across, he now found other ways to provoke me. And when he'd have me furious, with a great gulf between us, he would, as usual, seem satisfied.

He giggled and pulled at his beard. CLICK, CLICK, SCRAPE, SQUEAK, SQUEAK.

This time there was no making up. The passing hours only made things worse. Inevitably, when I'd soften, he'd manage to say something to renew my wrath.

It was not going to work. It was not possible.

By midnight I couldn't stand it anymore.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'Away. I can't bear this another minute.'

'Don't go. I'll be good. I promise. I won't say another word, okay?'

But I knew him better than that. I left.

I went to Bentley's Hotel.

'Tee hee, you're crying,' commented Mental when he opened the door.