Karen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Superman. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a well mannered professional during the day, but take her to a club with a live band and her inner Faye Dunaway appears. I know; I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve seen it. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s thin, slippery and attractive and her moves draw attention not shunned but played with like matador and bull.<\/p>\n
At The Lucky Dog in Worcester, watching \u00e2\u20ac\u0153The Wretched Souls,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d we sidled up to a pillar on the dance floor. I leaned against the left side and she the right. Following her face and figure, a young guy of modest build and dark hair walked behind her and pinched her left buttocks, the buttock nearest me. She turned, smiled, waved one finger and mouthed, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, no.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d Her lips, her shape and her dance floor moves said yes, only her finger said no. He grinned at her and pointed at me, as if it were I with the roaming hand, and minutes later touched her again. Again she smiled, wagged that finger and again he pointed at me.<\/p>\n
At Sweet Bites, our friendly neighborhood coffee shop, Karen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s more complex. The smile that rarely says no attracted attention from a-soon-to-be newly acquired friend, John, who stopped at our table\u00c2\u00a0 to tell her how compelling a figure she presented, framed in the lattice work of the large window,\u00c2\u00a0 bathed by early morning sun.\u00c2\u00a0 Sipping coffee, black,\u00c2\u00a0 she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s the confessor with heart on her sleeve, the professional on her way to work, and the friend of many who easily swaps hugs. Then there is this other Karen.<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Karen, why are you so aggressive with those guys?\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not aggressive.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Okay mean.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m not mean.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Look, Ken and Ray sit down and ask you easygoing questions and you snap back at them.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153 I do not.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Is your vocabulary limited to no and do not? I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122m telling you you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re like a third grade teacher telling the fidgety boys in the first row to sit still. How come you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re so much more docile with me?<\/p>\n
Karen: Because you\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re not a guy.<\/p>\n
I peer down between my legs to rebut her point, to reassure myself,\u00c2\u00a0 and to be funny. Ray, sitting next to me, follows my eyes and says,<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mine is longer than yours.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
I look up, catch his eye and say,\u00c2\u00a0 \u00e2\u20ac\u0153 No, mine is longer than yours.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153Mine\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s longer.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
\u00e2\u20ac\u0153 I remember you talking about yours and I know mine is longer. Karen, who\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s swims with me, can back me up.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
Karen, looking around at the crowded caf\u00c3\u00a9 and aware that for whatever reason our table is sometimes viewed as a sideshow, waves her cape.\u00c2\u00a0 She reaches over and tousles my hair believing this argument is staged and knowing the end. Surely, she thinks, they\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re about\u00c2\u00a0 to compare the length of hair on their heads.\u00c2\u00a0 But she\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s not totally confident because she knows I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve been wandering the perimeter of civilized society for the last three years.<\/p>\n
I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ll prove it to you. Mine is longer.<\/p>\n
Whereupon we both stand up, not yet the absolute center of attention, but soon to be. Ray reaches for his belt, me for mine, and Karen begins waving her arms and yelling that we can\u00e2\u20ac\u2122t possibly be about to do what it sure seems like we\u00e2\u20ac\u2122re about to do. Her decibels have gone from slightly above normal conversation to Aretha Franklin\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s restaurant\u00c2\u00a0 scene in Blues Brothers. \u00e2\u20ac\u0153You better think (think) think about what you’re trying to do to me.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d\u00c2\u00a0 She slows me down as I fumble for my belt, as Ray unbuckles his. Karen yells, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153No, no, stop,\u00e2\u20ac\u009d with her left arm outstretched, palm towards Ray and Me,\u00c2\u00a0 while hiding her eyes behind her other hand. Ray he\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s smooth, real smooth. He yanks his belt out of his pant loops and\u00c2\u00a0 says, \u00e2\u20ac\u0153See, mine is longer than yours.\u00e2\u20ac\u009d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Karen\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s Superman. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s a well mannered professional during the day, but take her to a club with a live band and her inner Faye Dunaway appears. I know; I\u00e2\u20ac\u2122ve seen it. She\u00e2\u20ac\u2122s thin, slippery and attractive and her moves draw … Continue reading