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Show 213 she would find it if she stopped to look before flushing, and then went out and got in his car. He slept in the car that night, all four doors locked, in a parking lot at Will Rogers State Beach, his knees bent under the steering wheel, his head on a rolled-up army blanket placed against the passenger's door. Strangers were looking at him through the windows when he woke up the next morning, so he slept the next night parked on the shoulder of a wooded side road in the hills east of Malibu, only to find when it was light that he was in a driveway leading to an enormous iron gate behind which two doberman pinschers paced. He spent the third night parked in the lot behind an abandoned movie theater in Venice and heard things scuttle over broken glass until dawn. The fourth night was spent in a cul-de-sac between two rows of beach houses, within sight of the carousel on the Santa Monica pier, until he was wakened by a flashlight beam in his face and heard the static of a police radio and two belligerent men in uniforms told him to move his ass out. He decided she had been punished enough, and at noon-it was Sunday-went to visit Shannon and Harry for lunch and arranged to sleep there for a night or two. They were not happy to have him there, and the third roommate, who returned from Anaheim that night, was unmistakably rude, but Lorin was pleased to have the floor space and the sleeping bag borrowed from the girls next door and tried to overlook the rudeness. He took the sleeping bag with him when, a few days later, he gave in to an impulse to drive to the Bay Area and see an old girl friend from Salt Lake who was teaching at an experimental open school in Berkeley. He spent the weekend trying to find Donna, but her listing in the telephone directory led him to a block of soiled row houses which were being demolished and the school was not listed. He slept across the Bay in Golden Gate Park and carried his sleeping bag under his arm when he |
