Rachel Alexander 02 - The Dog who knew too much

stop.
    “So, Howie, were you also present the night that Lisa lost her balance?”
    “She had no right to do that to me. She had to be punished.” He looked at the windows, then back at me. “How else would she learn?”
    Had Lisa been writing to him, because he’d cried so when he’d heard her plans? Had he left and come right back, his tears turning to rage on his way down the stairs? Was it Howie, then, not Lisa, who had opened the window, Howie saying he couldn’t go on without her friendship? And then what? Had he climbed up on the sill? Of course. And Lisa, her heart pounding, had run across the studio floor in her street shoes to stop him.
    He was just standing there, between me and the door, so close I could feel the heat of his body, his eyes as glassy as if he were a dog with rage syndrome. In the dark I could see his aura, red and shooting out around him, like those telescopic photos of the sun. Howie Lish was looking like something that was about to explode.

36

I Don’t Believe You, He Said

    SUDDENLY HOWIE CAME to life, grabbing both my wrists in one big paw and, with the other, slapping me hard in the face. “B-bitch,” he said, “you’re just like h-her, only pretending you care.”
    “You’re wr -wrong, I d-do care,” I said, desperation in my voice. Now I was the hikavater .
    T’ai chi, Avi had said, teaches you who you are, and when you know yourself, you can understand others. But I’ve always known who I am, a person who sees the world through dog-colored glasses. Now I remembered those magazines under Howie’s bed. And I knew who he was, too.
    My cheek was on fire, and fear had risen in my throat like a bad meal. No one else here, I thought, pushing the fear away. Rely on yourself.
    “ Ooo , you like it rough,” I said. “You have no idea how that turns me on.”
    “What did you say?”
    “Holding me so that I can’t get away, slapping me around, it really turns me on,” I told him, looking right into his eyes. I began to laugh. “I mean, it really turns me on.”
    He stopped moving.
    I was standing in the middle of the studio, my hands numb from the pressure on my wrists, and the only sound was Howie Lish’s heavy breathing.
    “Couldn’t we do this with less on?” I said, hoping he’d think I was trembling from desire and not fright
    “I don’t b-believe you,” he said.
    “Try me,” I told him.
    I felt the grip on my wrists loosen a little. I could see the beads of sweat on his cheeks, and running down his neck.
    “Let me take my clothes off, slowly, while you watch,” I said, someone playing kick-the-can with my heart. “And then you can take yours off, Howie. And I’ll watch.”
    He tightened his grip again.
    “You’ve been thinking about it, haven’t you?” I asked him. “I have. Ever since the massage.”
    Howie smiled. “Go ahead,” he said. “Undress.”
    “I can’t, with you holding me. Plenty of time for that later. We have all night, don’t we?”
    And then I was free, but Howie was so close and the door so far away.
    As slowly as if I were doing t’ai chi, I pulled Lisa’s black sweater over my head and dropped it onto the floor.
    I could feel Howie’s breath on my bare skin.
    I unhooked my bra, holding it out to him on one finger and then letting it slip into his big hand.
    “You, too,” I said, stepping back one step and slipping off Lisa’s leggings. “I want to see you, Howie.” And as a final sign of good faith, I slipped my underpants down and stepped out of them.
    Howie dropped the bra and began to undress, quickly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off. Then he opened his pants and let them drop and began to pull down his underwear. Looking in the mirror, I could see the big, white moon of Howie’s ass shining back at me. I could see myself, too, no longer in black, naked now, except for Lisa’s t’ai chi shoes and her heavy, silver bracelet hanging from one wrist like a handcuff.
    Howie’s erection had popped loose and was staring me in the face; his pants and shorts were around his ankles. As he lifted one foot to jettison them on the pristine oak floor of the studio, I remembered Avi telling me that in martial arts, unless doing something gives you a clear advantage, it’s better to do nothing at all. For a moment, that’s what I did—nothing. Then slowly I reached out for Howie, as if to embrace him, slipping my hands around his sweaty neck, and using a martial art even older than t’ai chi, I too lifted