I've been following the Pynchon announcements, and there's an excerpt from Inherent Vice on his website:
She came along the alley and up the back steps the way she always used to. Doc hadn't seen her for over a year. Nobody had. Back then it was always sandals, bottom half a flower-print bikini, faded Country Joe & the Fish t-shirt. Tonight she was all in flatland gear, hair a lot shorter than he remembered, looking just like she swore she'd never look.
'That you, Shasta?'
'Thinks he's hallucinating.'
'Just the new package I guess.'
They stood in the street light through the kitchen window there'd never been much point in putting curtains over and listened to the thumping of the surf from down the hill. Some nights, when the wind was right, you could hear the surf all over town.
'Need your help, Doc.'
'You know I have an office now? just like a day job and everything?'
'I looked in the phone book, almost went over there. But then I thought, better for everybody if this looks like a secret rendevous.'
Okay, nothing romantic tonight. Bummer. But it still might be a payin gig. 'Somebody's keepin' a close eye?'
'Just spent an hour on surface streets trying to make it look good.'
'How about a beer?' He went to the fridge, pulled two cans out of the case he kept inside, handed one to Shasta.
'There's this guy', she was saying.