I moved on to Vera Lipton's cubicle, completing my rounds. Vera's one of those women men are mad about. I swear it's not anything in particular she does. I suppose it's the air of total confidence she exudes. She likes men and they know it, even when she sasses them. She's thirty-seven, single, addicted to cigarettes and Coca-Cola, which she consumes throughout the day. You'd think that would offend the health nuts, but it doesn't seem to cause dismay. She's tall, probably a hundred and forty pounds, a redhead who wears glasses with big round lenses, tinted gray. I know none of this sounds like the girl of your dreams, but there's something about her that's apparently tough to resist. She's not in any way promiscuous, but if she goes to the supermarket, some guy will strike up a conversation with her and end up dating her for months. When the relationship's over, they usually remain such good friends that she'll match him up with someone she knows.

She was not at her desk. I can usually track her by the smell of cigarette smoke, but today I was having trouble picking up the scent. I cleared a chair and sat down, taking a few minutes to flip through a handbook on insurance fraud. Wherever there's money, somebody finds a way to cheat.

"Hello, Kinsey. What are you up to?"

Vera came into the cubicle and tossed a file onto her desk. She was dressed in a denim jumpsuit with shoulder pads and a wide leather belt. She sat down in her swivel chair, reaching automatically into her bottom drawer where she keeps an insulated cold pack filled with Cokes. She took out a fresh bottle and held it up as a way of offering me one.

I shook my head.

She said, "Guess what?"

"I'm afraid to ask."

"Take a look around and tell me what you see."

I love this kind of quiz. It reminds me of that game we used to play at birthday parties in elementary school where somebody's mom would present a tray of odds and ends, which we got to look at for one minute and then recite back from memory. It's the only kind of party game I ever won. I surveyed her desk. Same old mess as far as I could see. Files everywhere, insurance manuals, correspondence piled up. Two empty Coke bottles ... "No cigarette butts," I said. "Where's the ashtray?"

"I quit."

"I don't believe it. When?"