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2001-05-24 | 5:42 p.m.

I saw Kiki when I dropped off the girls at school this morning. We stood beside my car and talked. While we were standing there, a pick-up truck drove by us slowly and Kiki said, "Oh God, it's Don." I haven't known her long enough yet to have memorized all her people, so I just nodded. The pick-up truck pulled right into the school driveway and Kiki glanced over there and kinda squirmed and said, "Oh man."

I looked over and the guy was standing in the middle of the driveway, staring at Kiki, wearing the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen. He was a good-looking man but not winning any points for brainpower just yet. Kiki smiled and gave a little wave, but he didn't budge.

"Whatcha doin'?" he said.

She pointed at me. "Talking."

We stood there, kicking at the dust like eighth-graders, and when I looked up again he was still standing in the same place, grinning.

"Are you working at the school today?" she asked.

"No." he said.

"Just hanging out?"

"Not yet." Now belatedly answering her first question.

"Okay, which guy is this?" I said, a little officiously.

"This is Don. I've known him for like 25 years."

It was starting to come back to me now.

"Is this the one�?"

"This is the one who came to my shop�"

"Right. I remember now�"

"�and he said," here Kiki lowered her voice to a lecherous growl, "'I don't want a haircut, I want YOU!'"

We laughed.

"So I locked the door, pulled the blinds, and we went at it right there in the shop."

"That is so nasty."

After I said that, I worried that Kiki would take it the wrong way. I meant it in a comradely, Janet-Jackson way but maybe she would assume I meant the more common, "skankified" sense of the word? I wouldn't want to hurt Kiki's feelings for all the world. I think she's great, and I don't much care who she does, or how married they are, or whether they're standing up or lying down at the time. As long as she doesn't get anything sticky in my perm solution, you know what I mean?

But I think I know how to make it up to her. I'm going to give her my Celtic Book of the Dead and two books about reading tarot cards that I got from my friend Birgit, the almost-famous writer, who read our cards pretty much nonstop during my one and only year of graduate school. Birgit doesn't read tarot anymore and I never did, so there doesn't seem to be much point in my hanging on to the stuff. (This is a very adult admission for me, because I never get rid of anything, and a gift from an almost-famous writer would ordinarily qualify as an instant heirloom.) But Kiki's taking a course in tarot card reading, so she might enjoy it. Keep your fingers crossed.

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