“Okay,” she said, and went teetering along toward the hotel on her high heels. Dressed as she was, in the expensive outfit that had been a necessary investment for this project, she looked like a high-quality B-girl. Without the makeup and the smart clothes, she could pass for a high school junior. It was a handy attribute to have, the ability to seem two different ages.

She walked into the hotel lobby. It was a swanky place, all plate glass and thick carpets. A glowing green sign said COCKTAIL LOUNGE, and she steered her course thataway, ignoring the genial leers of the bellhops standing around in the lobby.

The lounge was crowded—mostly with couples, as usual, but here and there Janey saw a single man drinking alone. She stood at the entrance for a moment, looking over the crop. It was very important for her to guess right the first time. This was a fashionable place, and the bartenders didn’t want B-girls buzzing around from patron to patron. She would have to pick a winner the first time, or else clear out and try some other hotel along the tourist strip.

It didn’t take her long to pick out her man. He was sitting at the far end of the bar, nursing what looked like a martini. He seemed to be young—in his late twenties or early thirties—but his forehead was very high, and most likely he was sensitive about losing his hair.

The best kinds were the sensitive ones, Janey had learned. This fellow wore sport clothes; he was tanned and broad-shouldered and pretty muscular, and he looked reasonably handsome except for the unfortunate thinning of his hair. More important, he also looked well-heeled.

Janey walked over to him.

* * *

There was a seat empty to his right. Janey smiled sweetly and said to him, “Mind if I sit down here?”

“Go right ahead,” he said. His voice was deep and musical-sounding.

Janey wriggled into the seat, making sure to give him a good look at her bosom as she did so. The bra she was wearing molded her figure seductively, thrusting her breasts upward and out and putting them on display. And she had a classy figure, no doubt about it.

The bartender was busy about a dozen stools over. Janey smiled at the man next to her and said, “Do they make a good martini here? Some of these hotels give you a so-called martini made up of one third gin, one third vermouth, and one third ice water, all for only ninety cents.”

“This one isn’t bad,” he said. “I asked for extra dry. He gave me five to two proportions, unless I miss my guess.”

“Oh, a connoisseur, eh?”

He shrugged. “You get to tell the proportions by the way the drink hits your tongue.” Smiling, he waved to the bartender and said, “Mack, give the young lady an extra-dry martini, will you? The same kind you gave me.”