ld have known," Patrick said, "everyone I meet is an artist."

"You seen Jim: tall, cute?"

"I don't think so."

"He's a reader, too. He gets a pile of books and a six-pack, lies on
the couch and reads all day." She looked around and sighed. "Later,
Patrick." She left, relaxed and alert, like a fox on the move.

The next night she sat at his table again. "It's hot," she said.

"Want a beer?"

"No thanks."

"I get thirsty staring at white all day," Patrick said.

"You want to go swimming?"

"Sure." Patrick surprised himself. "Where?"

"I know a place."

"I don't have a car."

"I've got my roommate's for the night."

When they got into the car, Sue twisted and reached past Patrick to
arrange something on the back seat behind him. She was sweating
slightly, and he was astonished by her sweet rich smell. "That's
strange," he said, "we've got the same smell. How can that be? Same
genes? I'm mostly Irish. What are you?"

"Half Polish, half Ojibwa," she said. She drove to Shady and followed
the Sawkill creek to a spot where she could pull off the road. She led
Patrick through trees and down a steep path to the stream. It was
nearly dark as they walked over rocks to a bend where a deeper pool
curved along the outer bank. Sue crossed below the pool to a shingle of
rocks and boulders and kicked off her sandals. "Here," she said.

Patrick noticed the orange glow of cigarettes on the opposite bank, but
he couldn't see the faces behind them. He forgot about them when Sue
pulled her T-shirt up over her head and stepped out of her jeans and
underwear. "C'mon, Patrick." Her body was compact and tanned; one curve
flowed naturally into the next. He stripped awkwardly, thinking that
there was a first time for everything, and followed her into the icy
water. She swam up and down, diving and surfacing, blowing water, black
hair sleek behind her ears. Patrick did a few somersaults and floated,
feeling the heat of the day drain out of his body.

"Oooh," she said, walking out of the water and onto the rocks. "Let's
build a fire." They broke dead branches, took a few pages from
Patrick's pocket notebook, and started the fire with her lighter.
Patrick stood in front of the small blaze; Sue sat on her jeans, her
knees drawn up to her breasts.

"Hey TURD face. Where d'ja come from? UNDER A FUCKING ROCK?" Patrick
spun around. He saw a white face in the dark, a man standing behind a
low line of boulders, fifteen feet away. "FUC