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couple.”
    Frank was looking at the pink walls now. “Jesus, where in the hell are we?”
    â€œZanzibar Motel. You’re about a mile and a half from where you work. You can walk it if you want.”
    Frank stooped over a little, squinting, looking across the room at the sunlight filling the window. There wasn’t much to see: empty asphalt pavement, and beyond that, a four-lane highway with a grass median, Telegraph Road. A few cars and a semi went past. They could hear them above the humming sound of the air conditioning.
    â€œWhere’s my car?”
    â€œYou couldn’t remember where you parked it.”
    Frank went into the bathroom and came out with a Busch.
    â€œThen how’d we get here?”
    â€œYou remember looking for your car?”
    â€œâ€˜Course I do.” Frank took a drink of beer and let his breath out, feeling a little better.
    â€œYou lost your parking ticket,” Stick said.
    â€œI know, that’s why I couldn’t find the car. All those streets over there look alike. At night, shit, you can’t tell.”
    â€œYou remember trying to get that waitress to take her clothes off?”
    Frank hesitated, then drank some more of the beer. “We had a pretty good time, didn’t we?”
    Stick said, “You remember standing in front of the J. L. Hudson Company, in the middle of Woodward Avenue, taking a leak?”
    â€œI really had to go, didn’t I?”
    â€œEileen sure got a kick out of that.”
    Frank looked at him. “Eileen, uh?”
    â€œThe one you picked up at the Lafayette Bar. Wasn’t she a size?”
    Frank managed to grin and shake his head. “Yeah, she sure was.”
    â€œI was surprised she didn’t get sore, you started calling her Fatty.”
    â€œJust kidding around,” Frank said. He went over to the dresser, opened his wallet, and fingered the bills inside. “Yeah, I guess we had a pretty good time.” Looking at Stick he said, “I must have paid for the cab, uh?”
    â€œTaxicab? We didn’t take any cab anywhere.”
    â€œAll right, you win,” Frank said. “How’d we get here?”
    â€œIn a 1975 Mercury Montego.” Stick watched Frank look toward the window again. “You remember we’re standing in front of the Sheraton-Cadillac?”
    Frank’s expression began to open and show signs of life. “Yeah, they wouldn’t let us in the bar because you didn’t have a coat on.”
    â€œWe’re standing out in front,” Stick said, “when the Merc pulls up and the guy gets out, looking around. You remember?”
    Frank seemed happier as he began to recall it and could see the Mercury—dark brown, shiny—in front of the hotel and Stick walking over to the guy who got out, and now Frank was grinning. “Yeah, you went up to the guy and said something—”
    â€œI said, ‘Good evening, sir. Are you a guest at the hotel?’ ”
    â€œRight. And he said he’d only be about an hour and handed you the keys.”
    â€œAnd a dollar tip,” Stick said.
    Frank was still grinning. “Sure, I remember it. Where’s the car?”
    â€œUp the street, in the Burger Chef parking lot. You go out, don’t look at it. Don’t even walk past it.” Stick held up the ten cocktail napkins. “You remember these?”
    â€œSure I remember them. What do you keep asking me that for? I remember everything that happened.” Frank took the napkins over to the dresser, spread them out, and stood there idly scratching his jockey shorts as he looked at them.
    Stick watched him. After a moment he said, “I been reading your rules for success and happiness. And you know what?”
    Frank kept scratching. “What?”
    â€œI think you got an idea.”
    Frank looked over now. “Yeah? You think so, uh?”
    â€œI think it might be worth looking into. It’s a