The Balboa Dancer’s Tale
Aug 29, 2017 · 3 min read
I had not sat down for two minutes when a woman joined me at my table. She was soft and a trifle overripe, in an appealing way. She wore a becoming frock, gold jewelry, and a fuchsia lipstick that made her mouth look like an exotic fruit.
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Sure?
I did not have to prod. She told me her story unbidden.
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Sure?
She came from Bombay but had been raised here. She had never known love as a child, had never been touched, and even in her marriage, had never been…

