Shame

the kind of man who runs away from the likes of me.”
    “Love happens when you don’t expect it,” Caleb said. “I didn’t think I’d ever fall in love, or that anyone could fall in love with me. But when it happened, I treated it more like a curse than a miracle. I resisted love’s blessings so much that it was almost like I was embracing Anna and pushing her away at the same time. I guess I was afraid—no, I was sure—that she couldn’t possibly love the real me.”
    “Oh, I can name that tune, sugar. All of us with our shame. All of us built up like porcupines. Reminds me of that question: How do porcupines make love?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Very, very carefully.”
    Caleb didn’t laugh, but she didn’t expect him to. “The only creatures that got to be more careful than porcupines,” Lola said, “are us two-legged kind.”
    She was right, Caleb thought, right about lots of things. It did feel as if they were going into war. That explained their talking like this. No one wanted to die alone. And neither one of them wanted to die that night.
    “There’s this part in the Bible,” said Caleb, “where Jesus says, ‘And if thine right eye offends thee, pluck it out.’ I always wished I could do that, just pluck out all my bad parts. But then I wasn’t sure if I’d be left with any good parts.”
    The car slowed down. “I’m turning on Prospect,” Caleb announced. “Parking’s always tough around here.”
    Getting closer to the war, Lola thought. He was evidently thinking the same thing.
    “Can you give me that gun?” Caleb asked.
    He listened to her rummage through her bag, then saw her arm come out from under her blanket with the gun.
    “It’s loaded?”
    “Yes.”
    He stuck the weapon in his coat pocket, and they drove in silence until Caleb found a place to park the car.
    “Showtime,” he said.
    The crowds were out in downtown La Jolla, lots of beautiful people wearing expensive clothing, out to see and be seen.
    It feels surreal walking the streets, Caleb thought. No one else knew about his war. They were too busy window shopping and laughing to notice him. He knew how Lola had felt going out in drag for the first time, was sure he was experiencing the same feelings of exposure and uncertainty. He was the Bogeyman, had been on the front pages of all the newspapers and beamed out at these people from their television sets, but he was passing among them like a ghost.
    Caleb tried straightening his coat before walking into The Top Hat. He wasn’t dressed for the restaurant. Lola had done the best she could with his shirt, had mended it and tried to wash out the bloodstains, but they were still visible if you looked closely. His chin was bandaged and his face scraped from his run-in with the asphalt, and he needed a shave. Caleb could see his dark stubble in the reflection of the glass front door. His five o’clock shadow contrasted starkly with his newly blond hair.
    The interior of the restaurant had a lot of burnished wood and stained glass, but people weren’t there for the atmosphere so much as the panorama below. Top Hat diners had prime viewing spots of La Jolla Cove and the Pacific Ocean, and the patrons were taking advantage of their aerie, gazing at the ocean while sipping their drinks and nibbling on their shrimp cocktails. No one appeared to notice him, save for the hostess.
    Caleb cut off her pleasantries, merely told her, “I’m waiting for someone,” then took a seat.
    “Perhaps you’d like to wait in our lounge, sir...”
    “No.” Caleb turned his back on her, not giving her another glance. He didn’t take in her name tag or the color of her hair or anything about her. For her sake he ignored her. He remembered his brief encounter with Brandy Wein and how that had been enough to condemn her.
    It was 6:25. Caleb had arrived five minutes early. Time passed, each second making him more jumpy. He tried not to be a clock watcher, tried to resist looking at his watch, but found he couldn’t hold out for long. Every time the phone rang it gave him a start. He was looking at his watch when the phone rang again.
    The way the hostess was talking, Caleb knew it wasn’t another reservation call. “Why, yes,” she said. “I think he’s sitting here. Mr. Gray?”
    Caleb acknowledged the name. He took the phone from her, put it to his ear.
    “Sorry to have kept you waiting,” Feral said, “but you know how time passes when you’re having