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eardrums.
    “Nose!” He hunkered down into a low base, and still holding my head, pantomimed slamming my face against the crown of his skull, above the forehead. “No sense in messing up your pretty face; bash the silly bastard’s nose against your skull, and see how he likes that.”
    “Eyes!” Still not letting go of my head, he regained a tall posture and jabbed at my eyes with his thumbs. “Let’s see how sexy he’s feeling with his aqueous humor running down your thumbs.”
    “Throat!” He pulled back his arm and aimed a pretend strike at my throat, which was still sore from his choke hold. “And if the bastard’s still walking and looking for trouble at that point, then I shall be very surprised indeed.”
    He made me practice the moves several times over, faster and faster. The last time, I accidentally—I think—whacked his nose against me a little too hard.
    “Sorry,” I said. “My hands are slip—”
    A titanic roar caused traffic to slow in the street, the drivers expecting an earthquake. “Never, never say ‘sorry’ near me again!” My apology seemed to make Mr. Temple the angriest of anything I’d done—or not done—the whole rest of the session. “I am the instructor and am responsible for myself as well as you. Work on your control, yes, but don’t pause, don’t be nice, and for chrissakes, never, never apologize.”
    “Sor—okay.”
    “As if a little girly like you could mar my eternal beauty.” He did turn into the mirror, just in case I’d knocked a hair out of place, but once again was satisfied. “Once more.”
    I performed satisfactorily this time.
    “Better. Practice on your husband at home, it’ll be good for him. Show him who’s boss. Now, we get to the good stuff.”
    Exhausted already, I glanced surreptitiously at the clock. Damn, still twenty minutes left. How could an hour last so long?
    “Ah, Daniel-san, that anxious to get away from me? Give me twenty and twenty of the juiciest. You will remember next time that I am the only clock you need to worry about.”
    I almost protested but instead got to my knees and began the push-ups. Next time? I wilted at the thought.
    “Still doing girl push-ups, are we?” came the unimpressed observation from across the room.
    “Well, I’m still a girl,” was as much of a retort as I dared.
    “Ha! Never heard that one before.”
    I finished the crunches, got up, shrugged out my shoulders, and waited warily for the “good stuff.”
    Mr. Temple pulled out a pistol and aimed it at me.
    I jumped a foot in the air. “Holy shit!”
    “That’s one response. Can you think of a more effective one? It’s black rubber, by the way.” He showed me that it was only a realistic fake.
    I eyed the gun nervously; it sure had looked real to me. “Uh…?”
    “Not even close. Listen up. The trick with guns is this: Unless the gunman actually just puts it to your head and pulls the trigger, he’s interested in control, for the time being, at least. Let’s go over some moves that will remove his illusions and restore your sense of control.”
    We went over simple moves that would get the gun away from my head from the front, the back, and the side. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t forget, once you get the gun away from the bastard, use it on him. Shoot him, hit him with it, mark him up, so he never forgets you. And then when the cops arrive, you bat your pretty eyes and say, ‘Officer, I was in fear for my life.’ That’ll do you.”
    I nodded, sweat burning my eyes.
    “Right, enough gun. Now, knife!” He laughed hugely, like a demented Cossack, and I felt my shoulders slump.

Chapter 3
    T WO DAYS LATER, I LIMPED DOWNSTAIRS AFTER my morning shower, and collapsed in a chair in my mother-in-law’s empty kitchen. “Mr. Temple, you giant bastard. I’d hate to see what would have happened if you didn’t like me.”
    I got up, and tried stretching out my legs, bracing against the tabletop, but it didn’t help. I sat down again