She was a messenger from another realm, come to bring him news he hadn't known he needed. But there were gaps: subjects she avoided. He saw these, and avoided them, too. He could have educated her. She would have asked, but she lacked the nerve, because she lacked the experience. She had no way to begin, and so neither did he.

She surprised him from the first, and continued to, but in spite of that he recognized her, as if he had known her before. He wanted every role in her life, but he didn't ask, because she probably didn't feel about him the way he felt about her. Better to pretend he felt nothing. Everything she did breathed innocence. If he said what he felt he might frighten her away.

Instead he led a double life. He took up with Kim again -- Kim, the girl who had always reappeared between his other girlfriends; Kim, the wild girl, who lived in an atmosphere of freedom, without conventions. She thought of her own pleasure, not of right and wrong. Ada learned, but Kim explored. Her sense of self, of her own primacy, was absolute, her confidence unshakeable. She could have said anything, no matter how shocking, to anyone, no matter who. She didn't, because she didn't see the point. And she could have done anything, no matter how shocking, with anyone. She didn't, because she didn't see the point. Without thinking, she believed in pleasure, and not in pain. She lived instinctively. She enjoyed her life.

She had been Wyatt's first girlfriend in Lawrence, and she had continued to sleep with him occasionally. Now he began to call her. Being with Ada exhausted him; he always had to watch himself. Kim was easy, because she didn't care what he said or did. Nothing would drive her away. At worst she might laugh at him.

She figured out that he was in love with someone soon after he started calling, although he had said nothing about Ada. They were in bed when Kim said, "You're pussy whipped."

"Is that one of your Texas expressions?"

She slapped him on the ass. He rolled over on his back. "You're pussy whipped," she said again, and laughed. "You, of all people!"

"Am not."

"Are too. Who is she?"

"I'm not in love with her. She's just a girl I met. A friend. I haven't even touched her. She's like a little sister. I feel protective."

Kim howled. "Too much! You're P.W. and you won't even admit it. Is that why you've been calling me so much?"

"No. I'm horny, that's all."

"Liar. Introduce me. Tell her I'm your girlfriend. I dare you." She leaned over him, her face close to his, one hand next to his ribs, the other hand above his shoulder. Her right nipple just touched his left nipple.

"Would you not do that? It's annoying."

She sat up, cross-legged. "Don't change the subject. Come on. Tell her I'm your girlfriend."

"But you're not."

"So?"

"So it would be a lie."

"Oh, really? Have you been shopping for morals? When did you start worrying about a little fib?"

"I can't do that. She's not like you. If she found out, it would hurt her. She barely knows what lying is."

"Okay, then, kiss me in front of her. Meet her somewhere public. I'll come in, see you, and walk over. We kiss. It doesn't have to be a soul kiss. Just enough to let her know what's going on."

He didn't say anything.

"Well?"

"No. It would shock her."

"Oh, please."

"It would shock her. I'm not sure how she feels about me. I don't want her thinking I'm involved."

"We're not involved. Not that way."

"She doesn't know that."

"Then tell her."

"She wouldn't believe it."

"You know it's true, though." She lay down on her side, facing him.

"Sure it is. That's why I call you. I could dump you any time and you wouldn't care, except for the sex."

"That's not why I'm here. I can get the sex anywhere."

"But you like sex with me."

"Okay, yes, I do. You're different from most men. You like to have fun in bed."

"Thanks."

"It's nothing to be proud of. You're made that way, that's all." She leaned over him, nipple to nipple again. This time he didn't notice. He was staring out the window. "Hey, you," she said, "speaking of fucking..." She wet her index finger in her mouth and started stroking the top of his penis with the tip of the finger, from base to tip. "Is Thumper all used up?"

He lifted her hand by the wrist. "You wore him out. Maybe later."

Pause. "What's her name?"

"Unh-uh. You'd probably find her and tell her all about me. Maybe all about us."

She pouted.

The setting sun lit her up -- the slant in the corners of her eyes, her firm, gymnast's body, the upturned corners of her mouth. Even motionless she looked on the verge of sudden action. Her river of smooth black hair, her smooth skin: sleek, feminine and powerful. Feline. She'd known from birth how to take care of herself. He imagined her going home, turning into a panther, and giving herself a tongue bath. "You remind me of the big cats," he said.

"Dangerous?"

"No. Self-sufficient. Let me see your palm." He studied it. "You'll never marry, but you'll have hundreds of affairs. Even when you're sixty, you'll have multiple lovers. Soon you'll start bathing in the blood of virgins, like Countess Bathory. This will preserve your youth. At the age of eighty, you will seduce a witch's husband. The witch will put a curse on you. Your death will be agonizing, lasting one day for every year of your life, eighty days. In your next life, you get your revenge by giving her leprosy."

"What crap." She rolled her eyes. "Is this supposed to be clever? Can't we just fuck?"

"Didn't you listen? I'm spent. Are you familiar with the concept?"

"No. It doesn't work that way for me. Pretty please, with a blow job next time?"

Half an hour later Kim got what she'd come for, again, and Wyatt managed to forget his longing for Ada, for a little while. He liked Kim -- no, enjoyed was the word: her liveliness, the pleasure she took in everything she did. But she was too free. His Kim-vacation was coming to an end. Her energy was getting to be like a ringing in his ears.

The next night he was studying with Ada. They both had big tests coming up, and they were quizzing each other. This was the first time she'd been to his apartment since the snow. They always met in public, but he had invited her to dinner: they could study late and combine it with food. She had lost weight, not that she had any to spare, and she was pale, and had a bad cough. He wanted to get some good food in her.

He wondered who could be knocking on the door, and opened it.

"Hi," Kim said brightly. She wore go-go boots, a low-cut halter top with spaghetti straps and no bra, and a leather microskirt, all of them black. She had a long black wool coat flung over her shoulder, one finger hooked in the collar loop.

"What are you doing?" Wyatt whispered.

"I want to meet her," she whispered back. "I know your neighbors. They called me." Then, in a loud voice, "I was just in the neighborhood so I thought I'd drop in. It's been so long since we've really talked." She winked.

He sensed Ada behind him, looking over his arm.

"I'm busy," he said.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything." Kim's posture didn't change. She wasn't leaving.

"No," Ada said. "We were just sitting down to eat. Aren't you going to invite her in?" she asked Wyatt.

"I only made dinner for two."

"I promise not to eat much," Kim said.

"Wyatt?" Ada asked.

"I only made dinner for two," he repeated.

"Don't mind me," Kim said, and pushed her way in. "My name's Kim." She held out her hand.

Ada offered her own hand, and they shook. "I'm Ada. I'm a friend of Wyatt's. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Formalities," Kim said. "What would we do without them?" She looked at Wyatt, hands hanging by his sides. "Speaking of formalities, aren't you forgetting them? The food must be getting cold."

They sat at the table. Kim looked at the empty space in front of her, then at Wyatt. "Oh, yeah," he said, and shoved back his chair and went to the kitchen.

"I like your outfit," Ada said. "It's very bold. I could never be that brave."

Kim didn't answer for a moment. "Are you putting me on?"

"Did I say something to offend you?"

"No. Not at all," Kim said. "I like to dress up. People usually don't comment. And when they do, they... Never mind."

"But don't men get the wrong idea sometimes? What do you do?"

"Men are usually easy to handle. Take him." She nodded toward the kitchen, where Wyatt was opening and closing cabinets. "A few little pleasures and he's happy as can be. Most of them are like that. If you don't have time to make them comfortable, flattery usually works."

"That's funny."

Wyatt put utensils, plate and a glass on the table in front of Kim. "Here. Help yourself." He gestured to the food. At least spaghetti and vegetables could be divided by three.

The only way to get through the dinner safely was not to say anything, so he thought he'd simply listen. It would probably be something like watching teams playing different games on the same field: one side playing soccer, the other playing football.

"Don't you love men who cook?" Kim asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean," Ada replied.

"Don't you like having someone do your bidding? Wait on you hand and foot?"

"I never thought about it. I'd probably feel guilty."

"We used to have servants when we lived in the Phillipines. If I ever get rich, the first thing I'll do is hire a maid and a cook."

"Are you from the Phillipines?" Ada asked.

"All over the place. I'm an Army brat."

"I thought maybe you were Asian."

"I'm three-eighths Chinese." She pulled the corners of her eyes with her fingers and grinned. "The rest is a mix. I met a lot of my German relatives when we lived near Munich. I had my first boyfriend there. He was a distant cousin."

"Do you mind if I ask you something?"

"How can I know until you do?"

"What was the Army like?" Ada asked. "It's always been mysterious to me."

"Like a flock of chickens with a pecking order, and they wear it on their clothes. I hate that shit. I never want to see it again. It's for people who can't make it in the real world, people who have to be told what to do."

"It's so different. I can't imagine it. Everyone following orders and dressing the way they're told to."

"These new potatoes are good," Kim said to Wyatt. He passed her the bowl.

"Wasn't there anything you liked about the Army?"

"No. I guess I rebelled against it so hard I became -- " She turned to Wyatt. "What's the word you used?"

"Anarchist," he said.

"That's it. I think the world would be better if everyone was an anarchist."

"I agree," Ada said.

"You're kidding."

"No. I agree. We're all free, but that means we're responsible for each other. Or to each other."

"Spare me," Kim said. "I can't even be responsible for keeping the refrigerator stocked."

"That's funny. I feel that way sometimes."

"Stick with him, then," Kim said, and nodded at Wyatt. "He's the organized one."

"I know. He's showed me all sorts of wonderful study tricks."

"But he's such a slob. It used to bug me."

"You, too? The way he has pieces of paper sticking out of his notebooks. He's a paradox: disorder on the surface, organization underneath."

"Maybe," Kim said, "but look at the crap in this apartment. He's a pack rat. There's a project. 'The Wyatt project.' We'll fix his flaws and train him and when he's perfect, we'll auction him off to the highest bidder."

"How much do you think we can get?" Ada asked.

"I'm leaving," Wyatt said. "Back later."

Both women laughed.

"Move from that chair and you'll be sorry," Kim said.

"We're only having fun," Ada said to him, and touched his sleeve. She turned to Kim. "We're making him uncomfortable. We'd better talk about something else."

"Men. They're so fragile."

"Wyatt, fragile?" Ada said. "Somehow -- "

"Oh, but wait -- "

"I've had it," he said. "You two stop talking about me or I'm leaving."

"Master has spoken," Kim said. "I tremble."

"We'd better talk about something else. Tell me all the places you lived," Ada said.

"Texas, Georgia, and Washington D.C. The Phillipines, Turkey, England, and Germany."

"Oh. How lucky you are. I've always wanted to travel. With no need to work, only to see the places, and meet all the different kinds of people."

"It's pretty ordinary most of the time. It's a different kind of work, keeping everything together, keeping your kids fed and healthy. My parents were pretty good at it. Even the kids have to help, though, and if you don't speak the language, it's a pain in the ass."

Ada asked about the places Kim had lived, and Kim described them. Kim described them briefly, then, after repeated promptings, in detail. Ada leaned in, coughing occasionally, her elbows on the table, speaking only when Kim paused. Wyatt remembered the snowy morning, and the times since, when Ada had plied him with questions, and the concentration with which she listened to his answers, the same absorption with which she listened now.

"Now you tell me something," Kim said. "I don't know anything about you."

"I grew up on a farm, in a village, on a mountain, far away from anything interesting. No. I shouldn't say that. The cloud forest was fascinating. But there weren't enough books, and no movies, and only two kinds of people."

"How strange."

Ada glanced at Wyatt. "I'm not so lonely now, but I missed my family."

"Tell me something you miss. A thing, a place."

"My treehouse. There was an enormous tree behind the barn and my father thought it might fall someday, and he wanted the wood, so he cut it down. But he made it into a sort of playhouse. I was little, and there weren't any children my age, and a lot of the work was too heavy for me, or too old for me. He wanted to keep me entertained. He cut the top like a pencil point, to spill the rain, and shingled it. The stump was about ten feet high and he hollowed the inside into a little room. Then he made a table and chair from some of the leftover wood and made a door, with a lock, and gave me the key on my sixth birthday. I kept asking him what he was doing but he wouldn't tell me until he gave me the key, and that was the most wonderful moment of my life, until I won my scholarship. I always wore the key around my neck, even when I slept. I helped him cut niches and shelves in the inside walls where I could put my books and things. And we cut holes for windows. When I wanted to be alone, or to study, I'd go in and light the lantern and close the door and no one would bother me." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I kept hummingbird feeders outside the biggest windows. My favorite was the violet sabrewing, except it bullied the other birds -- it was the biggest, and it would chase them away from the feeders. Every year when the rainy season ended, I scrubbed the inside of my house with lye and took out the windows to let it air. The light was different in my room. I've never seen light like that, anywhere else. It was -- diffuse -- it was mellow, and the color changed with the time of day. When I got bigger I cut more holes of different shapes at different heights all around the room, and I fitted two of them with mosquito netting, for ventilation, and the rest with glass or thin fabric, and having more windows made the light a little brighter, but it was still lovely. Then when someone gave me some colored glass, I used that. I arranged them so that during a certain time of day there were red, yellow and blue stripes on the floor. I called it the rainbow hour," she said. "I miss the privacy. My treehouse was my retreat."

"At least you had one. Most people aren't that lucky."

"I suppose so. Lawrence is the only other place I've been, really. I love Lawrence. It has everything."

"I wouldn't say that," Kim said, "but it has enough, and not too much. I like Lawrence, too. I'd like to stay here after I finish school."

"That's a wonderful idea. It's an exciting place. And the people are so kind."

Kim picked up her fork and stabbed the last fragment of potato on her plate, then set the fork down on the plate in a three-o'clock position, with the potato piece in the center of the plate. " 'Kind' is the wrong word. They don't like conflict. They try to be nice so there won't be any trouble."

"But there are people like Wyatt. He's been so giving and helpful. Don't you think that there are a lot of people like that here?"

"What's that? Wyatt?" Kim feinted at him with the fork.

"Yes. Helpful and generous."

"How did you meet?"

She smiled at Wyatt. "He found me in the snow. He was extraordinary. He knew exactly what to do. He rescued me."

"Snow White. Oops. Didn't mean to be tasteless. I'll be going. It's late and you have to study. You've hardly touched your food, either."

"Don't go. Please."

"No. I have to."

Wyatt told Ada he'd just see Kim to her car. He rounded on her outside the door, and stopped when he saw the expression on her face.

"I love her," Kim said.

"You what?"

"I love her. She's sweet. She's innocent. I hope she stays that way." It was the first time he'd seen her look sad. "I see the appeal. She's young. She's unspoiled. If you hurt her, I'll kill you. But I understand. If I liked women I'd be in love with her myself. I hope you get her."

"What?"

"I hope she falls in love with you. It would be interesting. It would make you a different man. It would make her a woman. You can teach each other. I'd like to see that."

He was silent.

"I shouldn't have come. I ruined your evening."

"Forget it. What were you saying about Ada?"

"She's sweet. She'll fall in love with you, I know it."

"I hope so."

"I hope not too fast," she said. I haven't had my fill of you yet."

"What are you talking about?"

"I want to keep you for a while."

"Unh-uh. No. Don't do this."

"It's all right," she said. "I'm not going to tell her about us."

"Stay away."

"I'll only come when you call."

"You mean that?"

"Or I'll call you. I won't come if she's here, or you're expecting her."

"Swear it."

"Wyatt, you're acting like a child. You don't believe me?"

"Swear it."

She had her contemptuous look on. "After all this time, you treat me like that? You think you can't trust me?"

"After the way you crashed my party tonight?"

"If I'd known what she was like I wouldn't have bothered you."

"What are you talking about?" He shook his head.

She spoke slowly. "Are you listening? I'll try to say this so you can understand. I'm my way, you're your way, and she's her way. Everyone's different. Are you with me so far?" She paused for a second. "Even if I don't understand her, even if I'm not like her, even if I don't want to be like her, that doesn't mean I don't see her worth. She's special. She hasn't been damaged yet. Now do you get it? I'm only telling you what you already know."

She strode off, shrugging into her coat. Two boys were getting out of a car. The one carrying a six-pack wolf-whistled at her. She flipped him the finger. Wyatt watched, to make sure they didn't bother her, then went back inside after Kim had vanished in the darkness and the boys had let themselves into the apartment building next door.

Ada hadn't moved. "She's so interesting! I wish I could be like her. So sophisticated. Nothing frightens her."

"Well, that last part's true. She doesn't know any better."

"Doesn't know any better?"

"Never mind. You liked her?"

"Oh yes. She's -- I guess the word is cool." The word "cool" sounded like something new she was trying on. "Where did you meet?"

"A party. We got to talking. We went out..."

"You went out with her?"

"I meant, we went out to eat after the party." And then had sex all night. It was a revelation.

"Oh. I thought maybe you used to see her."

Silence.

"Did you see her?"

"Why?"

"Excuse me. I didn't mean to pry."

"Yes. I dated her. I don't like to admit it."

"Why? She's smart. She's beautiful, too."

"Not smart. Shrewd. No, streetwise, that's the word. Not beautiful, either. Attractive, more like. But she's scary. She'll do anything. I've seen her stand up on her motorcycle at fifty miles an hour, just to see if she could. She had the throttle set extra tight, so she could let go of it and the bike would keep going." And him on the back, riding double, and she hadn't warned him before she did it.

"She has a motorcyle? I've never been on one. Do you think she'd give me a ride?"

"She sold it. She was tired of it and she needed money."

"Too bad. I've always wanted to ride a motorcycle," Ada said. "Tell me about her. She's interesting."

"No. She's not interesting. The things she does are interesting. The things she says are interesting. But she's not."

"I don't understand."

"She's a simple person. She lives for herself, that's all."

"But what's wrong with that? As long as she isn't hurtful. As long as she isn't cruel."

"You don't believe that. You work hard. You try to learn. She lives from day to day. Her grades are lousy. She'll be lucky to graduate."

"That doesn't matter. I have to study, to keep my scholarship. Maybe other things are more important to her."

He stood and began collecting the plates. "We're wasting time. We have to get back to studying."

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No."

"I didn't mean to offend you." She stood, but he had already collected the dishes. She picked up the bowl of spaghetti, then put it down.

He turned at the kitchen doorway. "I can't believe you defended her. She knows better than to just show up like that. It's not right."

"I don't understand."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "Let's get back to studying."

"Not yet, please. You're upset."

He entered the kitchen and began scraping and stacking the dishes.

She followed. "If I've done something to offend you, tell me and I'll apologize."

"It isn't you. It's her. I've had about as much of her as I can stand."

"Why did you stop seeing her?" she asked. "She's delightful."

He set the plate on the stack and dropped the spoon in the sink and turned to her. "I didn't. We're still dating. We aren't serious about each other," he said. "It's." Incomplete, he thought. Incomplete. "Have you ever dated anyone for a long time?"

She looked at the floor. "No. I've never dated anyone at all."

"Sometimes they get on your nerves. It's dragged on too long. It's all used up."

"Isn't that a selfish thing to say?" She looked up. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that, but I don't know about these things. Don't you have to keep trying?"

"There's nothing to try for. She wants us to stay the way we are, and I could never feel, with her, couldn't feel the way... I want a relationship. Just not with her." With you. With you, the way I've never wanted anything before.

"I thought this length of time together meant that you have a relationship."

"No." He took her hand. "She wanted to meet you. She knew you were here. Someone told her. She has a spy in the building."

"She shouldn't be jealous. We're not, you're not my boyfriend."

"She isn't jealous, just curious."

"But if you're seeing her, of course she would be jealous."

"I'm not involved with her. I'm just dating her."

"Now I don't understand at all." She stepped back, pulling free.

He stepped forward and grasped her hand again. "Ada, you mean more to me than she does."

"Please don't. You're making me uncomfortable." He let go her hand. She grasped her elbows in her palms. "How long have you known her?"

"Three years."

"I think I'll go home."

"Why?"

"I'm tired. I want to think about this."

"No."

"I should. Honestly I should. I don't understand this, and I'm not sure I want to."

"No. Ask me anything. I'll tell you the truth."

"Are you in love with her?"

"No."

"But you've been seeing her for three years?"

"Off and on."

"Why, if you're not in love?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Yes."

"We have... It's easy. Everything is easy with her. She doesn't put anything in the way, she lets me be myself, even when she puts me down, it's not like... I don't know how to explain. She accepts me. She accepts everything. We're friends, we don't leave anything out. I can say anything to her. She can say anything to me."

"Are you, are you, you know."

What he was about to say might be a catastrophe. He was like a man going into battle, determined, knowing the risk. "Yes. I sleep with her." He saw from her surprise that she'd been trying to ask something else.

Ada stopped breathing and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth and took a quick breath, in and audibly out. "You sleep with her?" Her voice was full of wonder.

"Yes." He gestured vaguely.

"That explains. I knew there was something." She shook her head. "This isn't what I thought." She left the kitchen and sat on the sofa, looking out the window.

He sat next to her. "I'm going to stop seeing her."

"Why?"

"Don't you know?"

"No. I don't. Please don't talk. I need to think. I don't understand yet."

"I'm going to split up with her," he repeated.

"Don't. Don't say such things. Aren't you afraid of hurting her?"

He laughed. "Her? She's tough. You could put her in the middle of the Sahara and she'd find her way out. She's unbeatable. The person I'm afraid of hurting is you."

"But why? You wouldn't hurt anyone. You've been so patient, so very understanding. You could never hurt anyone. I'm grateful." Her face cleared, and she turned and looked at him. "I'm glad for you. Glad for her. You're friends. You shouldn't throw that away. If you give each other pleasure, why shouldn't you sleep together? I never thought of it, isn't that odd? There's nothing wrong. You enjoy each other. It never occurred to me."

"What didn't?"

"It never occurred to me that these things happen outside of books. I thought relationships were either long and serious, or short and casual. This is different. This is interesting." She pinched the sleeve of his shirt, and shook it. "I'm glad. You should go on seeing her. Don't throw away three years. Don't throw away all that closeness, all that time together."

"No!" he wanted to cry out, but said, "You don't mind?"

"It wouldn't matter if I did. Why would I? There's no reason for me to, I want you, both of you, to be happy. I almost wish I could be like her, so free and daring. I want that for you. Why wouldn't I? You're my friend. If you're happy, I'll be happy." She let go of his shirt and rested her hand on his arm. "I'm glad for you. You're very lucky. You should go on seeing her."