" "But why does she have her hand inside her buttons? Why is she rubbing her tummy?" "Shhh. Maybe she has a tummyache." "But, but ... why is she smiling?"-----She looked at the large dog. It held her gaze.She saw the recognition in its liquid brown eyes, felt the stir deep in the pit of her stomach, the looseness, and the sudden presence of moisture.It knew.She knew.-----"Can I call you?", your email says. I think for a few minutes, and then burn my boats. "I'm sorry. Would you be hurt if I said no?" I spin some tale about security, paranoia and broken rules, but in truth I'm ashamed to let you hear my voice, which is way too low.-----The queue at the ticket-office is long and slow-moving. The vaulted ceiling of the tall foyer amplifies sound, but no one is talking -- only the click of heels on the marble floor as another theatre-goer leaves the desk and the line inches forward. I feel the heat of someone's glance invade my face, and look down to avoid the stranger's gaze. As I focus. In return for picking up the check, I expect you to give me the lowdown on the office, a perspective on what it's like for a young woman to work here." "Sure. When would you like to go?" "Why don't you meet me at the reception desk in about fifteen." Becky enjoyed the lunch. There was not much she could tell Kate about the office. It was a good place to work; the worst thing about it was that there was no one to talk to on breaks, or to have lunch with. She warned Kate about the other two associates, too late. One had hit up on Kate already. Becky told Kate about herself, how she worked at the firm during the summer and a few hours a week when law school was in session, how she got the job through her dad who was a tennis partner of Mr. Barringer. Becky found herself opening up to Kate, saying things about her personal life that she never thought she would tell a stranger. She never talked to anyone about her sex life, but she did it with Kate. This was more evidence that she really.
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