I made almost one entire circuit of the room, feeling better and happier all the time. The struggle was over. I was protected, and relieved. And free to let the evening take its course, free to enjoy myself.

Then I saw him. He stood in the corner where the two wall bars met, talking with another man. It was him, there was no doubt. My man for the evening.

He was tall, and gray-­haired. His deeply lined face showed years of humor and adventure. He was lean and handsome, with a straight nose and clear, clean eyes.

He drank mineral water. I walked to his side and stood there, tacitly interrupting his conversation.

“Hello,” my gentleman offered.

“Hello,” I said. “My name is Angelina Watson.”

“I’m Fred Bertow,” he said, his eyes registering immediate interest. “This is Carl.”

“Nice to meet you,” Carl said. “I’ll see you later, Fred.” Carl made a shrewd and speedy exit.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” Fred said, leaning closer. He smelled of soap and water. His hands were strong and hairy, the nails neatly mani­cured. My saliva glands began to ache.

“This is my first time here.”

“Are you new in town?”

“I’ve been here a few months.”

“Maybe I could buy you a drink.”

“No, thank you. I have tea. Maybe I should get straight to the point.”

His smile of amusement was genuine. He was intrigued. And interested. “You look like a nice per­son; clean, sober, and—I assume—healthy . . .” I waited for his response.

He lifted an eyebrow and confirmed my impres­sions with a slight nod.

“I find that very attractive.”

“Do you?”

“Yes,” I said simply, and sipped my tea.

He swigged his mineral water from the short bottle as we regarded each other for a long moment. I could visualize his mind racing with the implications and strategies of the next move, which was clearly his. My heart pounded. I tried to keep my knees from shaking or my mouth from grinning stupidly. Men are an easy lot.

When he knew his next move, he smiled. “Are you as squeaky clean as you expect?”

“I take care,” I said. “And look to associate with those who do the same.”

“Shall we associate, then?”

“I’d like that.” For a split second, I looked at this man’s face and couldn’t believe I was saying these things. Then he spoke again, and I fell back into character.

“Now?”

I looked at my watch. It was nine-­twenty. I set my teacup on the bar and walked toward the coatrack. I dared not turn around to see if he followed me, but when I took my coat from its hook, he took it from me and helped me into it. I slid the towel through the sleeve and into my oversize coat pocket.