ne shortly. Very well done, sir."

Art turned to Linda, triumphant, ready for the traditional, postrhetorical
accolades that witnesses of his verbal acrobatics were wont to dole out, and
found her in an attitude of abject terror. Her eyes were crazily wide, the
whites visible around the irises -- something he'd read about but never seen
firsthand. She was breathing shallowly and had gone ashen.

Though they were not an actual couple yet, Art tried to gather her into his arms
for some manly comforting, but she was stiff in his embrace, and after a moment,
planted her palms on his chest and pushed him back firmly, even aggressively.

"Are you all right?" he asked. He was adrenalized, flushed.

"*What if they'd decided to kill us*?" she said, spittle flying from her lips.

"Oh, they weren't going to hurt us," he said. "No guts at all."

"God*dammit*, you didn't know that! Where do you get off playing around with
*my* safety? Why the hell didn't you just hand over your wallet, call the cops
and be done with it? Macho fucking horseshit!"

The triumph was fading, fast replaced by anger. "What's wrong with you? Do you
always have to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory? I just beat off those
three assholes without raising a hand, and all you want to do is criticize?
Christ, OK, next time we can hand over our wallets. Maybe they'll want a little
rape, too -- should I go along with that? You just tell me what the rules are,
and I'll be sure and obey them."

"You fucking *pig*! Where the fuck do you get off raising your voice to me? And
don't you *ever* joke about rape. It's not even slightly funny, you arrogant
fucking prick."

Art's triumph deflated. "Jesus," he said, "Jesus, Linda, I'm sorry. I didn't
realize how scared you must have been --"

"You don't know what you're talking about. I've been mugged a dozen times. I
hand over my wallet, cancel my cards, go to my insurer. No one's ever hurt me. I
wasn't the least bit scared until you opened up your big goddamned mouth."

"Sorry, sorry. Sorry about the rape crack. I was just trying to make a point. I
didn't know --" He wanted to say, *I didn't know you'd been raped*, but thought
better of it -- "it was so...*personal* for you --"

"Oh, Christ. Just because I don't want to joke about rape, you think I'm some
kind of *victim*, that *I've* been raped" -- Art grimaced -- "well, I haven't,
shithead. But it's not something you should be using as a goddamned example in
o