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was, at that.
    “Are you a musician or a cartoonist or what?” she’d asked him, letting the sheet fall to her waist as she turned to look at his drawings; she liked her breasts and liked having him look at them as she looked at his art.
    “I don’t know if I’m either anymore,” he said. He was sitting up in bed with a pillow propped behind him. His chest was almost completely hairless, she noted.
    “What do you mean by that?”
    “I’ve been at this cartooning shit for as long as I can remember.”
    “Oh, and you’re all of twenty.”
    “Twenty-one. I’d guess that’s about how old you are, too. And I bet you aren’t finding rock ’n’ roll an easy life, either.”
    “You’re right,” she admitted. “I been at it eight years, and it’s a hard go, even if you’re good at it, and I am.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m good at cartooning and I’m not making it.”
    “It’s hard to make it in any of the arts.”
    “No kidding. Oh, I’ve had a couple of things published in the undergrounds. Ever hear of Bizarre Sex ?”
    She smiled. “Try me.”
    “That’s the name of an underground comic. I’ve done a couple of science fiction parody things for ’em. Doesn’t pay much.”
    “It’s a start.”
    “But it isn’t a career. I don’t know. I don’t have much interest in commercial art, and the comic book field doesn’t appeal to me; the pay sucks and they’re doing the same old superhero junk, only badly.”
    “What about a newspaper comic strip?”
    “Landing a syndicated strip is almost impossible, particularly if you don’t do humor, which I don’t.”
    “I thought you said you did two parodies for that underground comic.”
    “Yeah, but I doubt many newspapers would want to carry ‘Dildos in Space. ’ ”
    “You may have a point. So where does music come in?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I heard you play the organ. You’re good.”
    “Aw, that’s nothing serious with me. I played off and on with some bands when I was in junior high and high school. I don’t think I could make a living at it. And I’m not sure I’d want to, if I could.”
    “Why?”
    “My mother was in ‘show biz,’ and she had a shitty life, playing piano and singing in bars, on the road all the time, dreaming of being on Ed Sullivan someday, only he’s dead now, and so is she.”
    “Do you have any kids?”
    “Kids? Me? Hell, no.”
    “Then you wouldn’t be doing anybody a disservice leaving ’em behind when you went on the road, would you? If that’s what your problem is.”
    He thought about that a while. Then he said, “What kind of band would I be in? I hate disco. I hate country rock. I hate heavy metal. There isn’t much I could stand to play, except old sixties stuff and maybe some of the new wave music coming out of England and the East Coast.”
    And that had been the beginning of it. She had told him about her mock-Blondie band, Dagwood, which she wanted out of, and together they made plans to launch what became the Nodes. She knew about Roc, Mick, and Les, and they all got together in a friend’s garage and jammed through some material, and two weeks later they had relocated in Des Moines, to be with the booking agency that had handled the now-defunct Dagwood.
    Leaving Iowa City for Des Moines seemed to be slightly rough for Jon. He didn’t say much about it but he was apparently very close to this guy Nolan, though they seemed to have had a minor falling-out of some kind lately, which made it easier to Jon to leave. So he said, anyway.
    She had only seen this Nolan a few times. Actually, he seemed to be using the name Logan, but Jon always referred to him as Nolan. She didn’t know if Nolan had ever even noticed her, really; to him she was probably just some twat Jon was shacking up with. They’d never exchanged a word.
    But she had noticed him, all right. Looked him over good.
    He was handsome, in an ugly way. A big, lean man with the slightest paunch, with dark, somewhat shaggy