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Show in my father's house/354 attention and held it. He was smooth-talking and very good-looking. His sleek hair, the ripple of his muscles, the glint of his eyes all had a sinuousness about them that very nearly hypnotized my senses. When him came into the cafe, my hand would begin to shake and I would spill hot coffee on myself, or I would be walking and would suddenly stop and stare at him. Despite the dark fineness of his features, there was something about him that reminded me of my brother, Danny. In chatting with him, I found that they shared the same birthday. Even in those pre-astrology days, I felt this to be something more than coincidence. His offhand manner was like Danny's. And when he asked me out, I knew he would treat me like Danny did - either I said yes, or there would be no second chance. I dressed carefully in a blouse of exotic blue print, like the eye of a peacock feather - touched with bronze to match my skirt. My hair was teased and smoothed to perfection, just washed to bring out the gold highlights of my blonde hair. But he sat on his side of the car, and I sat on mine throughout the movie. I wondered if he had forgotten about me. I couldn't stop thinking about him, about the waves of electricity which seemed to flow from him, prickling my skin. I wanted him to talk, to tell me about himself. He said nothing, but I couldn't bring myself to concentrate on the movie. I imagined myself moving closer, touching his hand to see if I would get an electric shock. During intermission, he brought a six-pack of beer from the trunk. He held out a can. "Have one," he ordered. I wrinkled my nose - the too-long, too-wide nose that |