"You take care," he said with a meaningful look. What I took was a long shower Later, scrubbed and smel ing of sandalwood, I checked my e-mail. There was nothing earth-shattering. I offered suggestions for problems submitted by students, sent an opinion to a pathologist inquiring about an oddly shaped skul , and replied to my three nieces in Chicago. Daughters of Pete's sisters, the teenagers were avid computer buffs, and kept me informed of happenings within my estranged husband's extended Latvian family.

Final y I thanked a col eague at the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology who'd forwarded a particularly amusing photo. The case involved a pig and a high-rise building.

At one-thirty I logged off and tried Isabel e. Predictably, she was not in.

Looking for an excuse to be outside, I set out to buy jumbo shrimp at the poissonnerie. I'd gone less than a block when I was stopped dead, distracted by photos at Coiffure Simone.

I stared at the woman in the black and white. She looked good. Stylish, but neat. Professional, but jaunty.

Jesus, Brennan. You sound like copy for a shampoo ad. Next you'l be tel ing yourself you're worth it.

I had told Kit I'd scheduled a haircut.

I studied the poster, estimating the amount of maintenance the style would require. I thought it could pass my ten-minute rule.

I started to move on, caught my reflection in the glass. What I saw was light-years from poster lady.

How long had it been since I'd tried a new do?

Years.

And the salon was offering a special Sunday discount.

Five dol ars off. Right. You'l save about three-fifty U.S.

A new haircut could boost your spirits.

It could be a disaster

Hair grows back.

That last came straight from my mother

I pushed open the door and went in. Hours later I was eating dinner with the Discovery channel. On the screen, male kangaroos kickboxed over control of the mob. On the hearth, Birdie eyed me silently, curious, but keeping his distance.

"Hair grows back, Bird."

I dipped a shrimp and popped it into my mouth, wishing it would happen before Kit got home.

"And I could use your support," I informed him.

If the new look was to have buoyed my spirits, the experiment had been a catastrophe. Since returning home I'd been thinking of ways to avoid public contact. Thanks to developments in telecommunication I had many options. I'd use telephone, fax, and e-mail. And lots of hats.

By ten I was feeling as low as I had on Friday evening. I was overworked, underappreciated, and my never-was lover turned out to prefer the robbers over the cops. My boss had col apsed, my nephew was out with the sleaze of the year, and I now looked like I'd been attacked by a Weed Eater Then the phone rang and things got terribly terribly worse.

"Claudel ici"

"Yes," I answered, too surprised to switch to French.