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Show 52 made love to a woman, Although they had not talked about it, she was sure. She wished that he had, that he knew how. She took a cigarette from her purse, and slipped out the sliding glass door to the back yard. The sky was close tonight, with a half dozen stars submerged in the haze, no moon. To the west, out over the ocean, the sky was darker. But in all other directions, in a great semi-circle around her, was the diffuse light of the night smog, the great haze of Los Angeles. Slowly there came the steady drone of a jet-from out of the west, over the ocean. A pair of headlights in the sky. It was approaching International Airport, only a couple of miles away. The headlights descended until the flashing red light on the fuselage belly was visible, until the whine of the engines absorbed her. It disappeared behind the black roofs down the block. She put out her cigarette, burying the butt in the trash can beside the back door, and went on upstairs. The house was quiet, breathing with sleep. She did not turn on the light, but moved quietly through the close darkness to her room. She peeled off her girdle, and in her new ease of movement, stepped out of her dress, the new material sliding down over her thighs and legs. Freedom. That natural freedom of movement. She had forgotten, it seemed, how it felt. In the bathroom she turned on the light above the mirror. The swelling in her cheek had vanished, there were no traces of it left tonight. But it seemed to have left her face different. Older, more mature. Vigorously, she washed off her makeup, and stepped into the shower. Turning on the water, she thought of Roger's hand on her breast. |