girl sat, her long legs outstretched comfortably. She was sitting alone at the table, confidently looking around the room. Karen couldn't imagine this girl being uncomfortable anywhere. It was this unperturbed air of self- contentment which attracted Karen. It made her realize how miserable and trapped she was. Karen remembered some terms which were used in astrology. Air and water, she thought with some amusement. The dark girl was air, free and unpredictable. And she was water, locked in by banks and barricades. Karen almost smiled at her sudden mood of whimsy. Even water, she continued the thought, could break free in the case of a disaster!
Karen looked around for someone who might bring her a cup of coffee. She couldn't tell the waitress from the customers. At least she couldn't see anyone in a special uniform. Giving up for the moment, Karen glanced back at the girl across the room. She was unprepared to find the girl staring at her. Karen looked away quickly. She hoped she hadn't been caught gazing like a tourist or something. But after an uncomfortable pause, Karen sneaked another look at the girl. This time she met the sky-colored eyes squarely, was staggered by the depth of sensitivity she read in them. She felt a sinking sensation, as if she were herself in the clear pools. Karen thought the dark-haired girl looked like an artist. There was the kind of vulnerability and suffering in her face which Karen had always associated with truly creative individuals. She resisted a mad urge to go to this stranger and comfort her… Karen felt a pang of regret that she hadn't the courage to approach another human being and offer friendship honestly. Everything had to happen according to conventions… Wasn't that part of forfeiting freedom? Didn't the demands of society insist on the surrender of certain freedoms? Karen was confused. She had to smile, though, as she thought of the way Allen would react to her speculations if he could hear them. He would think she had become a hippie.
Karen looked around again for the waitress. The coffeehouse was becoming a madhouse. People were packed tightly into the small building now. When she turned back to the table, the girl was there.
'Hello.' The dark-haired girl smiled charmingly. 'You aren't leaving yet, I hope.'
Karen felt as if she were looking into the face of an old and beloved friend. The sensation made her aware of how much she needed the stimulation of someone new, someone who could inject the essence of fun and excitement into her life. Her problems with Allen, and the prison of her depressingly dreary house faded completely. 'I… I had hoped to get a cup of coffee… No one's come…'
'In this place you have to fend for yourself. Let me do the honors. Be back in a moment.'
Karen watched the slim back lose itself in the mob. She felt very pleased. It was more than her delight at having someone to talk to – Karen felt flattered at being noticed by this beautiful girl. The attention made her feel like a desirable human being.
She realized suddenly that it was amazing she had never thought of seeking another man. She had felt so worthless and unresponsive with Allen for so long. A gentle, sensitive man might restore to her a sense of womanliness, even spark a sensual reaction. Karen felt like she had been dragging dead flesh around with her since their wedding night. But the image of another man, a man who could excite her, was impossible to evoke. She had really never known a man other than Allen, well. There had been no male figure in her childhood or adolescence. The idea of turning to a strange man now for the happiness she lacked seemed unreal. Yet, Karen knew it was a deep and gentle love she needed. She had been so sure that Allen would give her that love… She had dashed from her mother's funeral into marriage, only to find that the warmth she had known in her mother's house was denied to her in her own.
The girl had returned as soundlessly as she had first appeared by Karen's table. 'Sorry I took so long. It was packed up there.' She indicated the area by the makeshift stage with a nod of her fine head.
A man by Karen's side lifted his arm to wave to someone, pushing Karen aside. He leaned over to yell a greeting, blocking her view of the girl. Karen twisted around in her seat so that his heavy body wouldn't touch her. She tried to look around the man. Instead of seeing the girl. Karen was confronted again with the bold paintings on the walls. Their colors blended into a tapestry of paralyzing spots of brightness, while the rich, smoky smell of the coffeehouse was abruptly oppressive. She imagined she could feel the heat of so many bodies pressed together in the limited space. It seemed a very long time before the man noticed her, grumbled an apology, and got out of her way to join a group he came in with.
'This place gets even busier later,' the girl assured Karen, pushing one of the ceramic mugs toward her. 'My name is Pat Collins. Patricia, actually, but I dropped the ending when I was old enough to talk.'
'Patricia. That's a pretty name.'
'Pat suits me better.' She leaned across the table, putting her weight on her elbows. She studied Karen closely…
Karen hoped she passed inspection. She wanted this girl to like her. 'My name is Karen. Mrs. Karen Martin…' Karen cursed herself savagely. Why had she added the Mrs.? What was she trying to protect herself from, anyway?
Amused, Pat grinned at her. 'Can I call you Karen?'
'Please do,' Karen answered, embarrassed. She found herself smiling back at Pat helplessly.
'I hope you don't think this sounds weird, but do you believe in an instantaneous rapport between two people, Karen?'
Karen didn't understand. She saved herself haying to answer immediately by lifting the steaming cup of coffee to her lips. She was grateful for the burning sensation in her mouth.
'I'm talking about the kind of spontaneous recognition between two people which has no logical beginning.' Pat shook her head excitedly. 'I believe that for some reason you and I have this rapport. I didn't want you to leave without finding out if you felt it, too.'
Karen frowned, striving to understand what the girl was trying to say. All she really understood was that for some reason they had been attracted to each other. 'Are you talking about a kind of personal magnetism?' Karen asked, sure that this wasn't what Pat meant.
'No, it's not really magnetism, exactly,' Pat said thoughtfully. 'In the study of mysticism you find words like vibrations, which tells you that you have an affinity for someone. I sensed that about you as soon as I saw you.'
Karen felt both uncomfortable and exhilarated at the same time. 'I… I think I know what you mean, Patricia,' Karen said hesitantly.
'Don't call me Patricia, please,' Pat said, a trace of annoyance passing over her face. 'I really do hate being called that. I always wanted to be a boy. I guess this is the closest I'll ever get to it, though.'
Karen noticed the charm bracelet that encircled Pat's wrist. Religious symbols of every kind glittered from it. 'I guess every girl wants to be a boy at one time or another. I did, when I was twelve or so.'
'Well,' Pat sighed, carefully moving her full coffee cup in large arcs over the table, 'it's just as well we're not. Men are bastards. They sicken me thoroughly.'
'It's hard to live without them, though,' Karen said lightly.
'I can, and I do!' Pat replied, abandoning the game she had been playing with the cup. She tasted her cooling coffee and frowned. 'Well, almost,' she amended. 'Men are occasionally handy for money. Outside of that, forget it.' Pat's low voice was emphatic. 'The only thing men have ever done for me is to give me money for a few fast minutes in the sack. Other than that, I try to avoid the entire sex.'
Karen stared openmouthed at the girl while Pat fumbled in her sweat shirt for cigarettes. She watched the girl light one and suck the smoke deep into her lungs, her frank confession of occasional prostitution apparently forgotten.
'I have always felt a greater affinity for women. Men are too insensitive, too selfish. When I tell even the brightest, most understanding man that the only life worth a damn is the one which is devoted to self-realization and what I call the inner search, he doesn't even try to pick up on my meaning. He thinks it's a joke!' Pat moved her head easily from side to side, making the small silver cross twinkle as it caught the dim light and flashed it brightly around the room. 'I find that men demand insincerity from women. It's vital to their egos. Men don't even want to have a go at pretending a little show of sensitivity. Or am I wrong?' Pat asked innocently, her slitted eyes distorting the smile her lips attempted. 'Is, perhaps, your husband the exception, Karen?'
Karen passed a suddenly trembling hand over her eyes. 'Well…' Karen felt a compelling urge to explain. 'We just don't seem to be getting along… Al… he's busy all the time. You know, work, night school. He's really a nice guy. Pat. It's probably me. He just doesn't seem to understand me.'
Pat looked at the girl appraisingly. 'How long have you been married?'
'Four years.' Karen was surprised at the intimacy she felt towards Pat. Next, she chided herself, she would
