At most of the ambiguous turns, little weathered wooden arrows bearing the long Indian name of the beach indicated the way, but some of these signs had fallen into the grass, and the first time – an idyllic, unseasonably mild day in March – that the couple agreed to meet here, Jerry got lost and was half an hour late.Today, too, Sally had arrived ahead of him. He had been delayed by the purchase of a bottle of wine and an attempt, unsuccessful, to buy a corkscrew. Her graphite-grey Saab sat in a far corner of the parking lot, by itself. He slithered his own car, an old Mercury convertible, close to it, hoping to see her sitting waiting at the wheel, for ‘Born to Lose’, as sung by Ray Charles, had come onto his car radio.Every dream Has only brought me pain!…She brimmed in this song for him; he had even framed the words he would use to call her into his car to listen with him: ‘Hey. Hi. Come quick and hear a neat record.’ He had grown to affect with her an adolescent manner of speech, mixed of hip slang and calf-love monosyllables.
