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some juice left in it. It turned out it was thirty percent charged still. My neighbor Nixon, a Puerto Rican trainer with so many tattoos he looked like he was wearing a very thin bodysuit of ink, had texted me five times:
    Am ready in 10 and can be by Schiller’s in 20. Work for you?
    I’m leaving now. Be there in ten.
    Helloo!! Aren’t you getting my texts?
    I’m here.
    Well, it looks like you’re having a grand time with that dude. Text me if you need me to come get you. But I’ll go to bed by eleven.
    Shit. I had totally forgotten about Nixon and I hadn’t heard my phone.He’d dropped me off at Schiller’s on his way to see a client and was supposed to have picked me up on his way back, as I’d had no plans of staying long with Dylan. Not driving my own car allowed me to drink more alcohol than I’d otherwise been able to do. I must’ve been so engrossed with Dylan and our flirting that I hadn’t noticed Nixon coming by.
    I checked the time. It was almost one o’clock and the full moon was high in the inky sky. Well, it was definitely too late to call Nixon and ask him for a ride home now. Since I didn’t feel like hitchhiking, my only other option was to try getting a cab—not an easy feat under the best of circumstances in a city as car-dominant as L.A. Or I could call Ricki and beg her to come pick me up, but that had to be my last resort. Ricki would be in no mood to get up and drive all the way from West L.A. to the Hollywood Hills, but, being such a softie and great friend, I knew she wouldn’t be able to say no.
    I called several cab companies, but I had no luck. I even held out a halfhearted thumb to several cars as they drove by. All ignored me. Damn it . I had no choice but to call Ricki. I prayed my friend hadn’t turned off her phone for the night. After several rings, Ricki picked up, sounding groggy.
    “Hello…”
    Letting out the breath I’d been holding, I blurted, “Thank God you didn’t turn your phone off!”
    A beat passed during which I could almost hear Ricki’s sleep-heavy brain rousing, becoming fully alert. “I’m beginning to think I should have… What time is it?”
    “A quarter to two. Listen, I’m so, so sorry to call and wake you up like this, but I really need your help. I’m stuck out in the Hollywood Hills and can’t get home. I’ve tried calling a cab forever, even hitchhiking, but nothing’s working.” I made my voice small. “Could you please come pick me up?”
    “What are you doing up there?”
    “As soon as I see you, I’ll explain. So you’re coming then?”
    Ricki grumbled something inaudible. “Fine, I’ll be there. But you’ll owe me. Where are you exactly?”
    I explained my location and we hung up.

Dylan
    I was staring at the empty king-sized bed with the rumpled satin sheets. Why did she leave? Had she been that upset? I still couldn’t figure out exactly what I must have done to make her sneak out of my apartment like that. I froze. Maybe she had stolen something… My credit cards and cash. I put down the snacks and drinks and spun around, searching my bedroom for my pants. There they were, crumpled up on the soft, creamy white carpet. I walked over and picked them up, found my wallet in my back pocket. I opened it. The cash and cards were still there.
    What had I been thinking? I wasn’t that bad at reading people. So she might not have been the type of girl I should be with, but that didn’t make her a lowlife either. I would have known, sensed it, and certainly not brought her home in that case. Maybe she had faked that orgasm after all… Maybe she had not enjoyed being with me at all, but had been too embarrassed to tell me so once we got going. Maybe I was fooling myself into thinking I was so great in bed, knew women so well I could tell whether they were coming or not. Or maybe she was just crazy. I shook my head. Whatever it was, it didn’t really matter.
    I walked over to my living room and gazed out the window. I