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.