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"The Red Devil"
A woman with cancer rediscovers her body through a passionate love affair.
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Once a place for hate, the new and improved nation now boasts one of the most accepting constitutions in the world.
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The power of prunes
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[11/05/99]

Urge: Naked World
"Priestess" Sinéad O'Connor abandons neo-Catholic celibacy
The singer is one of many recently to give up the giving up. Is renounced celibacy spreading?
By Hank Hyena
[11/05/99]

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Monday, September 20

An appointment this afternoon with snowbird Nat, whom I haven't seen in almost six months. If I don't see him as often as I can between September and November, it'll be another six months, because he spends the entire winter in Naples, Fla. Today, he invited me to his Turtle Bay apartment, explaining that Mrs. ______ was touring lavender farms in Provence with a girlfriend.

I never like to see a john at his home if he's married. It's tempting fate -- men, even married men, underestimate a woman's sense of her own turf. But Nat has been seeing girls in this apartment for as long as I've known him -- he's one of the few who can be trusted to understand his wife's movements.

Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl appears in Health & Body every Monday and Thursday. + About Nancy Chan: Diary of a Manhattan Call Girl -- with links to all episodes to date. + Read the Diary from the start.

He greeted me at the door of their super-decorated empty nester's pad in his half-open bathrobe. I peeked into the robe and complimented him on his tan: "You got some color, Nathan!"

"Well, I should hope so," he replied. "I've been working on this tan for 65 years."

"Patience is a virtue," I reminded him, gently removing his too- eager paw from the hem of my dress. I started ducking into the guest bathroom, only to be dragged toward the bedroom -- "That's her bathroom. Use mine," he urged, pointing me toward another door. I freshened up and fluffed my hair while Nat fiddled with his new sound system. I cringed as Billy Joel began to warble in the many-speakered bedroom.

In the den, I began my ritual of undressing -- off with my coat dress -- pointing out my non-existent tan by peeling my bra down a bit. "I'm terrified of the sun," I informed him as I tugged my panties away to show him my young untanned loins.

"Come sit on my lap," Nat said happily. "I'll show you my new plaids." Looking quite spry in a pair of navy blue bikini briefs, Nat was sitting on a comfortable chair next to a table that displayed his pride and joy -- a pile of cards bearing swatches of his latest fabrics.

"Now this -- this is for next summer. It's a linen blend. See? Very light. I'm doing a line of women's suits in this -- it doesn't wrinkle but you can't tell it's a blend."

I was charmed by the obvious love Nat still has for his business after so many years -- the man is obsessed with fabric, with its nuances, especially those of the blends. If someone can find a way to sneak in a bit of synthetic without coarsening the entire effect, he takes a personal pride in the affair.

He took my finger and rubbed the tip against the pale fabric as I nestled half-naked in his lap. "Now feel the difference between this," he said, showing me a plaid wool square, "and this," showing me another. "It's much softer, isn't it?"

"But this is not," I said playfully, pressing my hip against his erection.

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