[Image]

                             image by Ken Brown, ©1990

                     Lyca was built like a cubist's
                     dream, long and straight and all
                     angles at her shoulders and hips,
                     but her favorite women all had
                     sassy, immodest breasts and
                     thighs. After dancing for awhile
                     we sat and watched girls drop off
                     their bags at the coat check. Lyca
                     was a leg girl. Just about any
                     pair in fishnet and thicker around
                     than her own made her sigh, as if
                     exhaling all the temptation of the
                     too-tempting world. Dancing had
                     seemed to exorcise the melancholy
                     that talking about work dredged
                     up, as well as the fear that she
                     had told me too much. A little
                     buzzed and far from home, she
                     talked about everything at once.

                     "That was great! Let's go back,
                     let's go back! I haven't gone
                     really dancing forever cause I'm
                     afraid I might forget I'm not at
                     work -- grrrrrrllllll." A woman
                     was bending down to grope in her
                     handbag before checking it in,
                     eliciting gasps of delight from
                     Lyca.

                     "Tell me when you want me to pick
                     one up for us," I said. Of course
                     I was joking -- I had no
                     expectations of landing in a
                     threesome or even making it with
                     Lyca, but, privy to her sapphic
                     esthetics, I felt myself
                     privileged, allowed into the
                     blood-red confidential tragedy of
                     her heart, and it made me a little
                     giddy.

                     "Don't tease me!" she cried.

                     I asked her if Leon knew about her
                     attraction to girls.

                     "Oh, sure. He even gives me hints
                     on how to pick up a nice one," she
                     laughed. "Deep down I don't think
                     he understands. But he'll never
                     complain. He's afraid he'll lose
                     me."

                     "Should he be?"

                     I sensed a finality in her
                     response, a velvet curtain closing
                     behind her eyes.

                     "No. No, he doesn't have to
                     worry."

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