I immediately knew her type when she came into the studio. Shy, scared of loud noises and completely indecisive. A woman who had been kept under someone's thumb and now wanted to learn how to assert herself in her new free world. I would never have guessed that a black woman would have need of a martial arts expert. All my friends who went out with black women had informed the rest of us that they didn't need men; black women were dynamos that told men where to go and how to get there.
So when Patti came into the studio, I sized her up with the eye of someone misinformed and strode over with the bravado of a dumb-ass. She was shorter than I was, barely 5' 4" and not more than 120 pounds, all in the right place and topped with a china doll face. She nervously clutched her purse and tried to hold my stare but chickened out as I got close.
"Can I help you?"
"I don't know. I want to learn how to defend myself."
"You've come to the right place." I launched into the spiel, giving her my best remembered lines about the packages we offered but it all seemed hollow. I couldn't help seeing the furtive look in her eyes or the shaking that would overtake her every few minutes. She needed something more than a lesson. "Listen, Miss … "
"Garner. Samantha Garner."
"Miss Garner, you seem to be very nervous about something." He steered them over to a quiet corner, lightly holding her elbow. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"
Samantha's eyes filled with tears and her body seemed to collapse in on itself. "He doesn't love me."