Karajan is not satisfied. He stands, paces—addressing the room, as if it were filled with spectators, as if it were an amphitheatre, a courtroom. ...��What are you sorry for?" He asked, in control again. "Be specific.” And he turns to me, is still. Glaring. Smirking.He pulls out his knife. Karajan wants specifics.The thought of his hands and shoulders and his knife brings me closer.... “Karajan, I mean it. I love you! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”Karajan grabs my throat with. "Whoo! That was more of a kiss than you had earned!" Pamela said."Oh no! A wrong kiss. Could you demonstrate the right one?" You probably just want to push it even more," she mock-complained. I didn't expect it when she grabbed my shoulders, and gave me a quick peck on the lips."Rats! Not the dreaded Grandma kiss!"Pamela laughed. "What kind of kiss did you want?" A boyfriend-type kiss."She was silent for a second. Or two. "I am not sure I am ready for that."I took her hand gently. "I'll wait.. More

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