knew that I had come home.

After the meeting I met Marge in the damp Los Angeles
night. We stood outside the double doors of the theater
and chatted. We were standing with our profiles to the
open door, and Marge said, “Look at this Lynne. Rama is
watching us. He has positioned himself so that he can see
us. Don’t you understand, we are different.”

I shifted my stance so that I could look through the
double doors, and I saw that Rama was carefully watching
us. He was engaged in a conversation with two or three
people, but his attention was definitely focused on us.

Marge continued, mildly stressed, “You know Lynne, I