smell of smoky bars and sweat. To dance close is not to fuck. Large wet

I met Claude at a Paris
disco. I was studying
Economics at the
Sorbonne. But I was
modeling-hoping I
might become a film
star. My father was a wealthy ground-nut
farmer in Sénégal.
My mother had taught
French in Dakar.
Then she oversaw the

workers on the farm.

A wastrel from a for-
merly aristocratic
family, Claude did
nothing but gamble. I
loved to dance, and he
was a wild dancer.

On Daniel's dresser,
a bank of candles

glimmers. Pink glass
rains over the floor.

I was surprised that
Claude wanted to
marry me. Sometimes
I think he wanted to
shock his mother. The

fact that I was a black
woman and Moslem-

When we left the boîte,
Daniel pushed me up
against the green truck

in the parking lot-not
even his-and fucked
me. I wore no panties.

I remember feeling my
toes touch the ridged

rubber of the running
board.

The powerful thighs
shift in his chair, the
aristocratic-

moon shapes under the arms. Sweet
kisses through a dusty windshield.
Sleaze is more than a neighborhood.

smell of smoky bars and sweat. To dance close is not to fuck. Large wet

moon shapes under the arms. Sweet kisses through a dusty windshield. Sleaze is more than a neighborhood.

moon shapes under the arms. Sweet
kisses through a dusty windshield.
Sleaze is more than a neighborhood.