She winced. "Now you come to my rescue," a pause, then, "I'm sorry. I don't want to be like this. I just hate you right now. So much. Christ, that ride from LA up here."
She was making no sense at all. "What are you talking about?" Maybe, he thought, it would be better to leave and come back later, after she had rested.
"Yes. The ride. To see Kate McGreggor. She was the one I wanted to meet, more than you. She was who I wanted to be like. Her guards, or whatever they are, never let me in to see her. I tried to find out more about her, where she lived and all. That was when I found that article about you, with her in it. I didn't even know who you were. And then I read about what you'd done, and that you were why the Joey was what it was, I don't know, I wanted to do that instead. I hated her then. I didn't want to be a musician anymore. I wanted to be a techno-artist or something. It's my parent's fuckin' fault, my liberal upbringing. I don't know. Or maybe something else. They're here now. Better late than never, right? Hey, lucky me, I can call them by their first names, but I could never call them Mom and Dad. That's what I wanted. Rick and Jeannette. No. It's not their fault. What am I saying? I don't even know who I am."
She turned her head away from him and rested. She lay still for a while, and when he thought she was asleep he turned to go.
"Stop," she said in a rasp. "We're not done." She was sitting up. Her eyes were dry now, awake yet unalive. "We're gonna make a deal. You've got a baby to take care of now, Peter. I can't do it. Not right now, at least. I can't even piss on my own. I have to push a button to get one of them to help me. How the hell'm I gonna take care of a baby? I can't even name the thing. That's your call, too. You get to call all the shots, Peter. Shoot, bang, bang, I'm almost dead. You're holding the gun, man. Don't go shootin' your own head, though. Oh, don't worry, I'll get better - it's the only way I'll get you. Get back at you is what I mean. You got a cigarette?"
He shook his head.
She made a disgusted face at him and waved her hand, scratching her fingers through her hair. "Then there's the other thing. I can't do any more about it. Not for a while. You might as well take a look at it."
"What other thing?"
Like a drunkard at a bar, signaling for a particular brand, she gestured to the corner of the room. "In there. In my pack. Get it."
He opened a narrow cabinet door and pulled her blue knapsack from the shelf. He held it to her. She smacked it with her hand. "Open it yourself."