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over some papers, pretending to work, but really only cowering in angst-y anticipation of what he’d think and say about what she had written to him. Or not say which would be even worse.
    Writing sexy notes to lovers was a breeze for Lena. She’d done it regularly in the past and the men loved them—yummy junk food for the mind; Doritos for the libido. But this note was dead-honest, like nothing she’d written before to any man she was involved with. It let her heart’s guard down and told Tony Areal the truth about how she felt. That was awfully scary stuff. Especially for someone like Lena who could wrap most of Earth’s male population around her finger simply by slinking into a room wearing too much eye shadow and attitude. Yet that morning while sitting on the toilet of all places, something in both her head and heart unexpectedly went clunk , like two railroad freight cars being joined together. Eyes wide with startled awe, Lena instantly knew that whatever fondness, fervor, or fuckiness she had previously felt for her new lover was way way back in her rearview mirror now and she realized for the first time she had crossed the border into a whole new state of mind re: Mr. Anthony Areal.
    How does it happen? What is the tipping point from fond to fervor? Surprisingly often it can be as simple as a gesture, their hand dropped onto your knee while riding together in a train, or the way they so seriously but sloppily brush their teeth in the morning. A small detail, trivial, that blossoms in an instant into the most important thing in your life. That innocent hand on the knee sealed the deal. Our mistake is to think love makes sense when much of the time it is, for better or worse, the most irrational thing we experience. Sometimes the biggest loves rise out of the shadows of our emotions like ghosts right in our face, but instead of hooting Boo! they say Now! Them!
    Sitting on the toilet that morning, the only thing Lena could think to say upon realizing she had fallen in love with Tony Areal was “uh oh.”
    Sometime later she took the note she’d written and re-read four times out of the wastebasket where she’d tossed it. She fretted out loud “Damn you— give it to him. It’s nice. He’ll like it.” But what if he didn’t ? For Lena Schabort it was a large act of moxie and courage later that morning to actually drop the squashed ball of paper on his desk and hurry away so she didn’t have to see him read it.
    For the next awful hour Tony didn’t respond. Not an email, not a note, a drive-by smile on his way to the office coffee machine—nada. She didn’t even see him which was strange because their office wasn’t that big. Oh God, was he avoiding her? Lena’s inner weather roiled crazily in that hour. Maybe he read her note, thought it was sweet but nothing special. No response required. That made sense. She hadn’t said anything especially mushy or over the top—sweetly romantic and a little poetic, right? So, no response=no problem.
    But maybe he had read it and was horrified by what it said—“tender and wild and beautiful.” Why had she used those loaded words when she could so easily have written something typical like “Last night was so hot with you.” And top off that mundanity with a silly photo of, like, a wolf howling at the moon.
    Maybe his silence meant nothing…or everything. She was miserable.
    Lena Schabort was not used to these kinds of feelings for a man, any man. In the past several had loved her, but she only liked or lusted them back—never more. Until she got involved with Tony she was fine with that. She liked being squired and admired, really liked sex, and one of the few rock solid beliefs she’d carried all through life was a genuine faith in the idea that one day she would meet a man she’d want to wake up next to for the rest of her life. Lena was not a religious person but believed that religiously. And she was willing to wait however long it took, not for