Valerie came in, wearing blue jeans and a man’s cotton shirt, her hair in a ponytail… and I thought I would fall down, flattened by her beauty, her presence, totally agogged with the miracle of my finding her here under the Brooklyn Bridge. Who knew what might happen next? What happened next, the girl with the sequined snatch got tiredly to her feet and exited. I found my voice. “Who’s that?” I asked, jerking my head toward the door through which she had disappeared.

“Daphne? Daphne Titsworth? She works here.”

“She always sashay around in fishnets and glitter?”

“What do you expect?” Val said. “This is New York.” She grinned slyly. “If you’re interested, you’d better act fast. Today’s her last day here.”

“Not me.”

Val waved a slim forefinger toward the door marked PRIVATE. “Barf wants to see you.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Barfield. The big Gorgonzola.”

“Me? Why?”

“How the hell do I know?”

Barfield’s office was a triumph of dinginess over the forces of fluorescent light. A raw meatball of a face hovered and slowly took shape, hanging like the harvest moon above the cluttered landscape of a desk. The face floated toward me. “Sit down, sit down, young man,” it said. “I understand you’re with RAT?”

I nodded and Barfield nodded, apparently glad to have his postulate confirmed. He settled down behind his desk and leaned toward me, scarcely breathing, trying to convey an illusion of unimpaired interest, total attention. I could see him clearly now, kneading that hamburger face in an earnest manifestation of mediocrity.

“I have a proposition,” he said, “that RAT might find interesting.” He paused, anticipating an eager response. I sighed inwardly, searching for some avenue of escape. Barfield was definitely not the kind of person who grows on you. In the outer office, not forty feet away, Val was waiting and here I was closeted with an enterprising bore. Perhaps the quickest release from my captor was hearing him out.

“What do you have in mind?” I asked.

“I’ve been thinking of expanding my operation,” he said. “Going into recreational equipment for the physically inclined, people with indoor hobbies. I need financing.”

“You mean like barbells, exercise bikes, jump ropes?”

“I mean like dildos, vibrators, and a broad spectrum of beneficial accessories, including a bakery.”

I nodded sagely as if I saw the connection; he knew that I didn’t, and he was intent on making his pitch crystal clear.

“I’m talking X-rated cakes. Erotica and novelties for special occasions.”

“Cakes. You say cakes?”

“Cakes in the shape of dicks and butts and tits and clits.”

“Hmmmmmm.” My expression of solemnity rivaled his.

“What do you think?”

“I’ll have to think it over.”

“Don’t take too long. I got some other people lined up.”

“Maybe you ought to investigate…”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“…investigate the people you got lined up.”