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What’s your constraint?” I said, using some newly acquired memoir-writer lingo. He ignored the question. “I’m a career yearner. Women rule me. Of course, some of the material was covered in my first memoir, but this book more specifically parses my search for atonement in women.” Everyone in L.A. knew that Spade was a big-league, serial pussy hound. L.A. County was a veritable body dump of his exes. Maggie had bolted out of town not long after last year’s book fest, taking a teaching gig in a faraway state. An editor I knew was still haunted by a brief fling she had had with Spade back in the ’90s. There were literary ladies stretched from Santa Monica to San Francisco whom he had famously romanced, rolled, and rooked over the years. I didn’t know much more about his pursuit of women, other than it had left a high body count.
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