“Must be why you’ve gone home alone the last half a dozen times we’ve been here,” said Dexter Fillmore, a bespectacled black man whose own luck wasn’t much better. The two had known each other since their days at Caltech; now, they never discussed work—since what they both did was classified, that issue simply did not arise—but they had few secrets when it came to affairs of the heart, or just plain affairs. “I’m an eligible bachelor, I make a good living: the ladies should be taking a number and getting in line,” Onishi regularly complained.

“Would that be an irrational number or an imaginary one?” Fillmore would snicker.

But now it looked as though Kazuo Onishi had himself a live one.

The woman’s third glance definitely had some linger to it.

“Call in the referee,” Onishi said, “’cause we’re looking at a knockout.”

“Come on, you’re always saying how much a girl’s personality matters,” Dexter protested playfully. “What could be more superficial than to make judgments from across the room?”

“Aw, she’s got a great personality,” Onishi said. “You can just tell.”

“Yeah,” said his friend. “I bet you love the way her personality fills that tight sweater of hers.”

And now the woman was walking toward him, daintily holding a cosmopolitan. His luck was definitely changing.

“Somebody sitting here?” she asked, pointing to an empty chair near Onishi. She sat down and placed her cocktail next to his beer mug, then signaled a waitress for refills. “OK, I don’t usually do this, but I was waiting for my ex-boyfriend who still has issues, if you know what I’m talking about, and I swear, the bartender here starts hitting on me. I mean, what’s up with that?”

“I can’t imagine,” said Onishi, looking innocent. “So where’s the boyfriend?”

“Ex,” she said pointedly. “Just got a call on my cell phone, said a sudden emergency at work came up. So whatever. Trust me, I wasn’t looking forward to it, anyway. I think the only way he’s going to stop calling me is for him to get a new girlfriend.” She turned to Onishi and smiled a dazzling smile. “Or for me to get a new boyfriend.”

Dexter Fillmore finished his beer and coughed. “I’m going to get a pack of Camels. You guys want anything?”

“Get me one,” Onishi said.

After Fillmore left, the blonde turned to Onishi and made a face. “You smoke Camels?”

“Not big on smoking, huh?”

“That’s not it. But, please, we can do better than that slot-machine shit. You ever try a Balkan Sobranie? Now that’s a real cigarette.”

“A what?”