We can get drinks from one of the vendors."And so we did that. I reread Upfield's An Author Bites the Dust, as murder in a fictitious Melbourne suburb...was the closest I could get to Sydney (actually, the one about the Kelly Gang would be nearer in distance, but further in reality). Rachel took her book on the folktales of Indians in the American north-west. We had a fine time: together, comfortable, peaceful. After a few hours we walked home, stopping to get some take-out from Thai Times. After. This time, he slapped me over and over with the back of his hand . . . hard. I screamed and began to cry. My mouth stung and I knew I'd have a fat lip; I could already feel my right eye swelling shut, and the left one wasn't too far behind it, either. I knew I'd have to stay inside for a few days or risk embarrassing my dear Steve unless I could concoct a plausible explanation for the two shiners I'd be sporting. "SHUT UP!" he screamed, and I did. "Now what am I gonna do?" he asked. More

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