People start sauntering in and helping themselves to coffee. A string of kaTAkaTAkaTA suddenly washes over the room like a football stadium wave from nearly every man and I look over to see that Carol has entered the room. She always does that to the guys. I try to figure out why. It's not the suit, although that flower pattern pencil skirt looks great set off with the dark jacket, the jacket's tailored lines just nicely showing off her breasts. Maybe it is the way she tosses her hair, the way she walks, the way she sports her terrific figure. She's my friend, and I always take advice from her. I don't get that same results, though, even when I try my hardest, more like a dull ripple of katakatakata than a splashing wave of passing lust.
As I put out packets in a dark blue folder with a nicely typed heading, I see Ken talking with Carol. I wave at him and work my way toward them, making sure that the packets are presented well. Brian steps behind me and slips in his corrected pages to the packets. His heartbeat and mine are almost in tune: the kataaaakataaaa kataaaa of concentration and preparation.
Ken leaves Carol's side and comes over to us, straightening his tie and evening out his heartbeat. "Hmmm . . . you guys are working well together today. . . maybe the State has something to worry about." Ken smiles at both of us. Even though his words seem serious, his heart is a soft light kaswishswishtakaataswish--something Jim calls his "agreeing stage." I start to feel better, and we three begin a lively discussion of legal interpretations of relationships between ground and surface water. Ken and Brian transfer over to sports and I edge off to compose myself with more biofeedback. I dust off and straighten my skirt so I can make a good presentation on all levels.