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tour?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat tour, exactly?”
    â€œThe Santa Cruz Freaks and Tasty Treats Tour.”
    I look over his shoulder at Nick’s dubious house. The windows are draped with purple, rust-streaked sheets, and there’s a strange sculpture made of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans dangling from a tree. “Are you sure she’ll be okay in there?”
    â€œPositive. Like I said, he’s a disaster with women, but with cats, he really shines.”
    He starts to guide me away, but still I hesitate. “I may not be a model pet owner,” I say, digging in my heels, “but I do worry. She’s sort of all I have at this point.”
    With both hands on my shoulders, he looks into my eyes. “Claudia. I swear, she’ll be happy as a clam. Trust me.”
    I bite my lip, studying his face. I’ve known him all of four hours and am shocked to realize I do trust him. “If you say so.”
    â€œI promise. Now, right this way, madam, and I’ll introduce you to what Santa Cruz excels at.”
    â€œFreaks and Treats?” I ask.
    â€œPrecisely.”
    Â 
    Clay Parker’s Freaks and Treats Tour:
    1) Nick and his jelly doughnut. Freak with treat. I’m skeptical, but willing to proceed.
    2) Fancy place downtown with white linen tablecloths and waitress with sparkly red thong peeking out of black slacks: wolf down a dozen oysters on the half shell and beer in frosty cold mugs. Clay confesses he’s having the best day he’s had all summer. I blush. I hardly ever blush.
    3) En route to destination, we spy our second freak: long-hair on unicycle playing a plastic recorder. Due to high speed of vehicle, can’t be sure, but suspect he’s playing “Little Red Corvette.”
    4) Gold mine. Downtown farmer’s market. Peaches, fried samosas, free samples of calamari. Too many freaks to name: mullet guys, drag queens, belly dancers, skate punks, goth girls, rasta drummers. Clay points out Dad in a Sierra Club baseball cap scolding toddler for not recycling apple juice bottle. At first we laugh, but when kid cries, start to feel depressed.
    5) Manage to discreetly disappear into Rite Aid for tampons. Inside, more freaks: three betties in 80’s neon and teased bangs, filling cart with jumbo Junior Mints and Pall Malls.
    6) Dessert at the Saturn Café. Sullen waitress with pink Afro. Clay orders us Chocolate Madness and a side of chocolate chip cookie dough. We feed each other the mess until we’re groaning in pain.
    7) Insist on the Boardwalk. Remember visiting a hundred years ago, am seized with uncharacteristic nostalgia. Clay grudgingly admits Boardwalk is chock-full of freaks and therefore justifiable addition to itinerary. Ancient roller coaster nearly forces oysters, calamari, peaches, samosas, cookie dough and Chocolate Madness back up. Discover Clay has adorable, girlish scream when terrified.
    8) Nightcap at Blue Lagoon. Lots of beefy guys in leather. Want to kiss Clay so desperately can taste it.

CHAPTER 6
    C lay Parker lives in a yurt. Before tonight, I’ve never heard of such a thing. It’s round and wooden and is shaped like a circus tent. It’s more homey than I’d imagined. In fact, it has solid wooden floors, glass windows, running water and electricity. It’s the sort of place a hobbit might live in, if he was born and raised in Northern California.
    You’re wondering what I’m doing here. So am I. But things are much more innocent than they sound—really—in fact, Clay’s insisted he’s going to lend me his bed while he spends the night at the smallish cottage down the road, where Friend lives. So far, the gender of Friend is a mystery my gentle probing has failed to pierce. Here’s the paltry sum of clues I’ve managed to procure:
    1) Cottage has a couch, which he’s indicated he occasionally sleeps on.
    2) Friend is “an old friend.” Assuming this refers to