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I found the only thing I could not simulate was mascara. Apparently hair, being just so much dead tissue, was beyond my mental control. It was a good lesson for me, showing me that there were, after all, limits to my abilities. Still, it was good to know that my makeup would stay exactly as it was until I decided to change it. I could live without extra-long lashes. The stuff was always getting in my eyes anyway.I was dressed and downstairs just a couple of minutes before six. It was a good thing, too. When I looked out the front window, I saw Neeka walking up the sidewalk. She seemed to be having trouble. She was walking stiff-legged and she stopped a couple of times and held on to a pole or a sign. I was concerned, until I realized what her problem was. She had followed my instructions to the letter and not touched herself for the last 24 hours. The poor dear must have been about ready to pop from the frustration. Walking up the hill was probably so much stimulation between her. There was no need for any kind of preamble but I looked blankly at her, unwilling to reply. I’d liked John for so long and, despite my bleak outlook on life and my firm belief nobody really nice could ever like me, I’d allowed myself to believe that Friday evening had marked a turning point. “Sam!” she insisted, “What happened? It was going so well.” She was right, it had been and that’s what was so upsetting about the whole business. I’d really blown it. Gripping my arm as she eased into the chair beside mine she implored, “Come on! Tell me what happened?” The concern in her voice was touching and I knew I needed to talk. “I fucked up”, I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. “How?” she implored. “I just did”, I answered petulantly. I wanted her to have to work to get me to spill my guts. Since Friday I felt the world didn’t care and I wanted some kind of sign that there were exceptions to this. I was consciously aware that I was attempting to manipulate her and, if anything,.
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