The days passed like cards falling from a deck, so fast that sometimes they were just a blur of sound and color. But she was on her way. She knew that, and the knowledge kept her going.

Today, an icy cold late December one, just like each of the countless days that had come before it, she spent fourteen hours at the station, then headed tiredly home.

Down on the street, she was captivated by Rockefeller Center at the holidays. Even in the fading gray of an overcast evening, there were people everywhere, shopping, taking pictures of the giant Christmas tree, ice-skating in the seasonal rink.

She was about ready to start walking home when she saw the sign for the Rainbow Room and thought, What the hell? She’d been in New York for more than a year now, and although she had made a lot of acquaintances, she hadn’t bothered with dating.

Maybe it was the Christmas decorations, or the way her boss had laughed at her when she asked for the holidays off; she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that it was Friday night, only a few nights before Christmas, and she didn’t feel like going to her quiet apartment. CNN could wait.

The view from the Rainbow Room was everything she’d heard and more. It was as if she were on the bridge of some great mothership from the future, hovering over the multicolored magnificence of Manhattan at night.

It was still early, so there was plenty of seating at the bar and at the tables. She chose a table by the window, sat down, and ordered a margarita.

She was just about to order another one when the bar started filling up. Men and women from Wall Street and Midtown congregated in groups alongside overdressed tourists, commandeering the tables and chairs, lining up three deep at the bar.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Tully looked up.

A good-looking blond man in an expensive suit smiled down at her. “I’m tired of elbowing my way through the yuppies to get a drink.”

An English accent. She was a sucker for that.

“I’d hate to think you were going thirsty.” She kicked the chair across from her out just enough for him to sit down.

“Thank God.” He flagged down a waiter, ordered a scotch on the rocks for himself and another margarita for her, then collapsed into the chair. “Bloody meat market in here, isn’t it? I’m Grant, by the way.”

She liked his smile and gave him one of hers. “Tully.”

“No last names. Brilliant. That means we don’t have to do that whole exchanging of our life stories. We can just have fun.”

The waiter delivered the drinks and left them alone again.