In the back pages of each book, under the heading “cash accounts,” were lists of women, delineated by month, that Bobby had been with. He ranked them from one to ten, as if he were a teenager. Ten, Mary knew, was for full-on intercourse. “My lust demons,” he wrote, were his greatest failing. He used the word “mugged” a lot—women who, he wrote, just came up to him on the street and said, How about it? If they had sex, he considered himself mugged, a passive victim of aggressive women.
