She ushers me out the house door, down the porch steps, through the yard, out the gate to the street.
- Where are we going? What's the rush?
- We're taking a walk.
- That's new. What's going on in that mind of yours?
- I want to leave here.
- You just got back from leaving here.
- Let's go traveling and trick people.
- That's for desperate people. We aren't desperate.
- Are you a saint? I hadn't noticed. Why do you care?
- Some people you don't hurt by taking their money, OK. But some you do. It's too difficult to be sure which is which. I don't want the job.
- You like riding around in my car. It has to be paid for.
- Is that why we are walking? Trying to prove something?
She has just come back from one of her trips, a music connection to be met in London, coming back nervous and afraid.
Confidante, but not complicit: how do I make sure that's what I am? I won't betray her confidence, but neither will I help betray others confidence in her.
We do go on together, we don't cheat people together. We go to the school track late at night to run, we go to the flea market at Rackeve, we talk about going to the U.S., buying a car and traveling. When the music career comes to nothing, and she gets on the plane to meet me at the hotel in Santa Monica, she says she doesn't want to be judged on the basis of the old life, she wants to be given the chance for a new start. That's what I want too.