(Eloise)   Sometimes he looked at her in a certain way and it no longer seemed possible to speak. There were words right in her throat at the moment, climbing up her tongue and then slipping back down again and again like Sisyphus’ boulder. He led her to the wall, pushed her gently to the floor, then stood in front of her. The robe was fuzzy and warm on her, but she could feel the air conditioning on her breasts and sex....

After the reading and dinner with an old college friend, she retired, as had become the custom, to the hotel bar. Here her company was a boyish bartender who seemed to be desperately trying to think up something witty every time he passed by her but was never quite able to get it out. He’d pause, concentrate really hard, and then move on. Men and woman of various ages were scattered at tables behind her, one guy on the ph...

She had honed her cast for years for one reason and one reason only. Scene: Chiasa, mild-mannered young Sansei, academically competent (even for an Asian—huzzah), prone to profanity, shorts a la jailbait, now wearing an Angels hat with the requisite ponytail, and unlimbering the old axe clumsily—whoops! got the hook caught on her favorite T, the one with the heart outlined in the sequins, and now I guess I put the worm on...

It was a setting where he really should have known better, but nonetheless the prince insisted in generally referring to peasant women as baggage when he was out on his carriage rides. It was only a matter of time before one turned out to be a witch. After she’d cast her spell, with the usual ‘return to original form upon a kiss by a princess’ proviso, she vanished in a puff of smoke. The coachman dutifully returned to th...

She lay on the bed for a few moments, trying to decide on the mise en scène. The responsibility here was immense. So windows cracked, rear door open, the incomparable tropical breeze. Thirty-second shower, gelid, enough for four efficient soap strokes. Pubic hair proofreading: two flicks of the razor reinforced the champagne glass phase she was currently going through. Makeup retouched, a smoky effect around the eyes, no ...

Sunlight, the Pacific variety, was always death for her. Maybe something to do with her name—but probably not. Late in the day, when her skin glowed and released its stored warmth, freckles coming into existence over her nose like the stars above the horizon, then she felt tied to the earth itself, its titanic history. The sun sizzled to a puddle on the horizon, with the wind pushing the palms and music coming from the be...