She must be the wife of the production VP who’s throwing this little party in the hills, I’m not sure. I don’t think she’s a guest, at least doesn’t seem to be. No one’s talking to her. She’s got a cocktail dress on and that tiny pearl necklace and that’s about it. One eye that she keeps rubbing behind her glasses. Her shoes came off long ago, so I’m guessing she lives here. Just guessing, but I’m pretty sure by now. What is it about her? I wonder. I mean, there’s a bunch of women here my age, at least ten. Blondes, a redhead or two (which I completely dig), even a couple college girls. Don’t really know what they’re doing here, but they make it nice. Like a school dance or something. And each one, these other women, I mean, has qualities about her that I would normally find captivating. At least worth hitting on, if we were on a plane together or whatever. That one over there, with the green turtleneck and the scarf, what’s her story? I mean, it’s the middle of August and she’s sporting that big wool wrap around her neck, which is totally out of place and, therefore, pretty damn sexy. And the girl with the Bennington T-shirt, very nice. Any woman with something to read on her clothes is sending you an open invitation, in my book. Normally I’d shoot over there and size her up, make a lame comment about the college or something, get a number, you know. The usual. But not tonight.