“Actually, I’m not all that interested in wine, though I’m happy to drink it. I let the guys order.”

“What’s your favorite restaurant out there?” the woman asked.

“Postrio,” Carpenter replied.

“Oh? I thought that was closed.”

“Nope. They’ve redone it, and they have a new chef. It’s wonderful.” Carpenter made a mental note to find out if the restaurant was really closed. She couldn’t go around making obvious mistakes, even if she was just practicing the legend.

“Where are you staying in New York?” the woman asked.

“At the Carlyle.”

“Pretty expensive for business travel, isn’t it?”

“I’m a senior vice-president of the company, so I rate the good hotels and first-class air travel,” Carpenter replied.

“That’s great.”

“It ain’t bad,” Carpenter said, wondering if she was stretching the Americanisms too far. “What part of town do you live in?”

“Uptown, East Eighties.”

“I like the Upper East Side,” Carpenter said.

Their steaks arrived, and both dug into their dinners.

“Not a bad wine,” the woman said, turning the bottle to see the label.

“Jordan Cabernet.”

“Yes, it’s a nice one.”

“Maybe asking the bartender to choose isn’t such a bad idea.”

“See? I told you. Have you lived in the city long?”

“Four years,” the woman replied.

“Is it easy to meet men here?”

She shook her head. “So many, yet so few.”

“That’s how I feel about San Francisco,” Carpenter said. “All the good ones are married, or gay—or both.”

The woman laughed. “It’s the same here.”

They finished their steaks.

“Dessert?” the bartender asked, taking away their plates.

“What do you recommend?” Carpenter asked.

“I like the walnut apple pie, with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream.”

“Sold!”

“Make it two,” the woman said, “though I’ll regret it tomorrow when I weigh myself.”

“Never weigh yourself,” Carpenter said.

They finished their apple pie, and Carpenter asked for the check. She paid it with one of her Susan credit cards. “This one’s on me,” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“Susan Kinsolving,” Carpenter said, offering her hand.

“I’m Ginger Harvey,” the woman said. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee somewhere?”

“Thanks, but I’ve had a long day, and I’m really tired. Maybe I’ll see you in here again sometime.” Carpenter waved goodbye, walked outside, and found a cab. “The Carlyle hotel,” she said. “Seventy-sixth and Madison.”

“Right,” the cabbie said.

“Do me a favor, will you? Check your rearview mirror and see if there’s a woman getting into a cab behind us.”

“Coming out of Clarke’s?” the man asked. “Yeah.”