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She is riding the cusp of the room and I am following, in the ebb of what she leaves behind her. People are talking about her. People are watching her move. But she is watching them back, and she is quicker.

It is a difficult thing to follow someone so alert. She will detect me, turn on me, send me away or, worse, ask me questions. Emily, I will run your risk; turn around.

...but she doesn't. She slips into the other room and I lose reception, another weak AM station.

I hear her laughter from the kitchen, it carries like the sound of a fork on a crystal glass -heads turn. I wonder how many of us are holding our breath, waiting to see if she will land on our ponds, giving us a non-duckling appearance, if only for an evening.

When she emerges from the kitchen I try to appear aloof, uninterested for a moment. But my Old watch her through the mirror across the room trick doesn't work. She is peering at me, eyes above a glass of wine, eyes looking through the glass, through me.

The eyes say:

What do you want-really? Do you think I don't know what you desire-what your motives are? Consider only this- I am a possible. For someone, maybe you. But not tonight.

I stare back and try to comprehend her stare, her eyes seductive and menacing at the same time. I get up to leave and bump into a young women next to me-
"She always does that, that look-don't assume it's a No-sometimes it's Yes."

...how do you......?

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