She Took My Arm As If She Loved Me - Plot & Excerpts
God winked. I was such a person. General metabolic luck helps when God looks the other way, slyly averting His eye. I was lucky enough to meet Priscilla before I sprouted hairs in irregular patterns all over my nose, or perhaps unlucky, because those hairs might have protected me, armored me into peaceful recreations with Alfonso and Lillian or Lillian’s successors, especially if the nose hairs betrayed a coarse tangled rug growth on the back and chest—kept Priscilla from liking, teasing, loving me in the blithe, abandoned style of a gifted young woman whose metabolism, so far as she can tell, is only going one way, upward, toward more beauty, more sweet smells and emanations, more liveliness and yearning appetite. Of course, even nose hairs might not have saved us, especially since they are rigorously plucked in most cases, men aiming for that bald-nose look so much in demand these days in the higher social circles. My vanity: probably I would have stood spraddle-legged and squinting at a mirror, plucking away, so that even in the sunlight of that picnic on Mount Tamalpais, silver gleaming out of her straw basket, wine chilled, her eyes blue as heaven and her hair the brightest thing on the mountain, no telltale specks could have been discovered on my nose as cartilage invisibly thickened.
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