How It Ended: New and Collected Stories by Jay McInerney Page B

hear Bongo just moments before I see him; he's barking frantically even before he launches himself at this man who is wrestling with Susan on the couch. The ensuing racket is terrifying, Susan screaming, Derek cursing, Bongo snarling and barking, until he comes flying in my direction, yelping as he lands at my feet. I grab hold of him as he tries to make another run at Derek.
    “Motherfucker bit me. Jesus Christ. I'm bleeding. That fuckin' dog bit my ass.”
    Susan is examining his thigh, which seems to have been the part of his body that actually sustained the wound.
    “Fuckin' crazy,” he says. “Where'd that racist motherfucker come from?”
    “I think we need to get him to the emergency room,” Susan says to me. Bongo's still barking and lunging as I clutch his collar.
    “You people are way fucked-up,” Derek says as we lay rubber out of the cul-de-sac. “What the fuck's wrong with y'all?”
    There's not much to say to this, so far as I can see. I hear a sniffling sound from Susan's side of the car and I see that she's crying.
    “Fuckin' crazy white folks.”
    “It's true,” she says.
    I feel like pointing out that he was down with the program until Bongo bit his ass, but I decide to keep my counsel. I mean, nobody was holding a gun to his head, were they?
    Derek can't contain his indignation. “Whassup with you people? You pick up strange white dudes, too, or is this some Mandingo thing?”
    “No, it's not.” Susan wipes her nose and sniffles. “It's not just—it's both.”
    She looks over at me, as if trying to read something in my face.
    “I think maybe, I don't know, Dean likes it better when it's, you know, a black guy.”
    “Me? What are you talking about? Don't put that on me. You started that.”
    “If I did, it was only because I felt like you wanted me to.”
    “I never said that.”
    “You never complained, either.”
    “And that gave you license to go for it,” I say. “Which is obviously what you wanted.”
    “Deeply fucked-up, man.”
    “Hey,” I say, “we never forced anybody.”
    He leans forward in the backseat and slaps me on the head. “Shut the fuck up,” he says. “I want to hear what she say.” To Susan, he says, “You into this shit?”
    She looks over at me, and I don't like what I'm seeing.
    “I don't know. I guess I've gotten used to it.”
    “Gotten used to it?” I can't believe this. She's completely rewriting history.
    “You know, after a while it was just … something we did.”
    “Give me a fucking break,” I say. “You love getting fucked by strange men. And you really love getting fucked by strange black men.”
    Derek smacks me again, harder this time. “Shut up and keep your eyes on the fuckin' road. And show the lady some goddamn respect.”
    We're coming up on the hospital.
    “How long's this shit been goin' on?”
    Susan is slumped over in the front seat, as if she's suddenly gone boneless. I notice the little blond Kelly doll sprawled, arms and legs akimbo, at her feet. I'm getting fed up with this inquisition. I mean, what the hell difference does it make how long it's been going on, and what does he care?
    “I can tell you exactly,” Susan says. “It was after Dean …” Her voice catches and a sob escapes her pursed lips. “It was after he found out about something I'd done.”
    “Somethin' you done? Or someone you done?”
    “Well, yeah, someone I'd slept with.”
    “What are you talking about?” I say. “What does that have to do with anything?”
    “Oh come on. As if you don't remember.”
    “I don't know what the hell you're talking about.”
    “I'm talking about you finding out about me and Cleve Thompson.”
    “What the fuck does that have to do with anything? And why are we talking about this now?”
    “Come on, Dean. That's what really started this. How long was it between you finding out about Cleve and you telling me to pick up that man at the Last Exit.”
    “That was like … That was way later. And you're the