He calls to me within three steps of entering the yoga studio. His voice carries throughout. His class is beginning, mine has just ended. We embrace – a comingling of my perspiration and his aridity.
Him: Wow, your hair. Betty Page?
Me: Yeah, Betty Page. (really Louise Brooks, but what does he know)
Him: Do you want to live the Betty Page lifestyle?
Me: (absentmindedly) I already do.
Him: Really, wow, we haven’t talked lately. I didn’t know that about you.
I feel his married wolf-eyes watching me as I move to the side of the room, pulling a periwinkle-blue tee shirt over my sweaty yoga halter and wrapping myself in my scarf. I move towards the door. I don’t look up.