Read Online Sheer Gall by Michael A. Kahn - Free Book Online Page B

were.
    â€œGrip the ground with your toes.”
    I tried.
    â€œTonight we start with the palm-heel strike. Bend your elbows, gals. Hands palm-up at the sides of your ribs. Good. Now pull them back as far as you can.”
    I did.
    â€œFingers together. Make sure those elbows are aligned directly behind your hands, just like pistons.”
    They were.
    â€œHold that position. Concentrate on your power line.”
    I did, and as I did, Faith Compton moved slowly around and among us, studying our positions, occasionally pausing to adjust a stance.
    The front wall was mirrored. I followed her in the reflection. There were eleven of us in the women’s self-defense class, all lawyers, varying body types, all between the ages of twenty-five and fifty. Most of us, including me, were wearing sweatshirts, sweatpants, and sneakers. Two of the women, including the oldest in the class, were in leotards and tights.
    Faith Compton was our instructor. She was in her late thirties, stood just under five feet, and looked as if she lifted weights. She had short red hair, intense blue eyes, and an acne-scarred face. According to the class brochure, she held a third-degree black belt USA Goju Karate and a second-degree black belt Aiki Jitsu, whatever those were. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt over black tights and a pair of black leather exercise shoes.
    â€œWe start with the palm-heel strike,” she announced after she returned to the front of the class. “Remember: strike forward along the power line, fingers up, heel of the palm pushed forward. Keep those shoulders back and still. We’ll do the right hand first. You know the move. You’ve practiced it every night since our last class.”
    She assumed the stance facing us, arms back, hands up, eyes calm and lethal.
    â€œMake sure your energies are flowing in a straight line,” she said, “directly forward from your solar plexus. Prepare yourself. Remember the yell of spirit. I want to hear you scream.”
    I took a cleansing breath, trying to maintain my focus.
    â€œHe’s in front of you. Visualize him.”
    I concentrated, trying to conjure up an attacker. The best I could do was a wavery image of Jonathan Wolf in his thousand-dollar suit. There was a smirk on his face.
    â€œVisualize your palm heel driving through the center of his chest.”
    I did.
    â€œReady?”
    Definitely.
    â€œNow!”
    My arm shot forward. Boom! He staggered backward and lost his balance. Yes!
    â€œExcellent, girls.”
    I was grinning, my heart racing. I was invincible.
    â€œResume the chambered position. Good. This time, four hits. Right, left, right, left. Make it fast. Let me hear those screams. Ready? Visualize. Now! ”
    Boom, boom, boom, boom!
    I was Wonder Woman, I was Bruce Lee, I was kicking major butt!
    Twenty minutes later, I was also totally exhausted. A little hoarse, too, as we prepared to end the class in the same way we opened it. I was kneeling in what Faith called the position of reflection: hands on my lap, ends of my thumbs touching gently, eyes closed. Together, we said the pledge of virtues that Faith said she had learned from her kung fu master, also a woman:
    â€œThe martial arts are my secret,” I recited with the group. “I bear no arms. I shall find my strength as a woman. I shall always be aware. I shall be quick to seize opportunity. Nothing is impossible.”
    I opened my eyes, smiling proudly.
    Faith caught my gaze and nodded. Then she bounced to her feet and clapped her hands once. “Dismissed.”
    ***
    â€œWhat’s one more piece?”
    â€œMom,” I groaned, holding up my hands. “I’ve had three already. I’m plotzing.”
    She put down the plate of kamishbroit and shook her head. “Then you’ll take some home.”
    â€œIt’s a deal. You know I’m crazy for them.”
    And I was. Kamishbroit is a deliciously crunchy Yiddish pastry, a long,