Taxi to Paris by Ruth Gogoll

despite my careful mental defenses.
    "Why not?" She'd registered my reaction immediately. She turned the seduction up another notch. She rose and started toward me. "There are plenty of nice things with which we might amuse ourselves."
    I backed up against the door and held up my arm. "Watch out," I said. "If you take another step, I'm leaving. Maybe that's exactly what you want, but if not, then stay where you are." When I was in college, we'd never handled anything like this in Communication Theory. Once again, my education had failed to provide practical information! I had to learn all the important things from experience.
    She laughed and stood still. "Okay. Whatever you want," she confessed cheerfully. "But we're not going to get very far this way." She beheld my face with a derisive smile.
    "That depends on where we're trying to get," I said. I tried to suppress a sigh of relief.
    "I'm beginning to wonder about that myself." Her tone of voice had changed. She seemed more earnest now. She turned and walked back toward the couch, then changed her mind and chose one of the two armchairs that sat at opposite ends of the coffee table. She eased herself into it and offered me the other. "I'm not dangerous at the moment." She smiled. "Have a seat."
    I wasn't quite sure whether I could believe her - her brand of "not dangerous" was rather like an unarmed atomic bomb - but all this dancing around the possibility of mutual understanding had worn me out. I was glad of the chance to sit down, and took it. The two chairs were far enough apart, and the table was between them. This way, I could look her in the eye with a bit less effort. She looked at me questioningly. She wasn't going to take control this time. At this point, she obviously didn't feel she was in charge.
    "I'd really like to learn more about you," I began, somewhat haltingly. Before I could continue, she interrupted me with a dismissive gesture.
    "There's nothing interesting to learn, believe me. If that's all you wanted to know..." She started up. "Would you care for a glass of wine? I'd like one." She waited for my reply.
    "Actually... Yes, sure. Why not?" At least that would create another opportunity to converse with her. Although I didn't believe the alcohol would make her any more talkative. She wasn't the type for that. She would certainly have the self-control not to drink one drop too much, if it came to that.
    She returned with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon and two particularly lovely wine goblets. After she'd poured, she handed me my glass and toasted, smiling. After that, she sat back down in her armchair. She didn't try to get any closer. She twirled her glass thoughtfully with one hand. "I don't know if you understand me," she said. "But I just don't want any trouble." She took a sip of wine and savored it on her tongue.
    I felt rather overwhelmed. What did she mean by that? That I was going to cause her trouble, and because of that she'd rather have nothing to do with me? I developed an uneasy feeling in my gut. She seemed completely impenetrable to me. My intuition told me I should stay away from her, but at the same time, I knew that I didn't want to separate myself from her for a minute.
    "Are you in a relationship?" she asked suddenly. She sounded amiably interested.
    Would I be here if I were? I just looked at her. How could she assume such a thing?
    "Oh, you don't think that makes sense?" It was as if she'd read my mind. Unperturbed, she continued, "Most of my clients," - she shot me a look, as if to see how I would react to that word - "are married."
    I was surprised. "I thought only lesbians..."
    "Well, yes, that's what they are - after a fashion," she said with contempt, "but of course they'll never admit that publicly. The particularly adventurous ones call themselves bi." Her expression got a shade more contemptuous. "But even they would never admit that they go to a hooker."
    As much as I fought it, I couldn't hold back the fascination I