By Cat Weaver

Alan was electric— Renee had touched him. Renee who touched no one —was reputed to be, herself, untouchable for reasons which only the bounds of speculation could limit. 

Renee had touched Alan at the party last night. She was showing him where her chiropractor had put pressure on her neck. The room had fairly gasped in unison— or so it seemed to Alan.  

Maryanne was on fire because Renee had touched Alan. All day she would contemplate how unworthy he was. Alan who studied comparative lit, of all useless things. Speaking in goddam Cantonese just to show off. 

In  the morning, Crawly curled his skinny fingers around Renee’s left pinky.  “Mommy’s up! mommy’s up!”

Renee followed him with one eye as he stalked haughtily across the bedsheets. 

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