Like most convertible owners in Los Angeles, Andrew had the top down to take full advantage of the invigorating Southland smog. As the BMW tore along the streets, the wind turned my normally unruly mop into a Brillo patch. Needless to say, it didn’t touch Sam’s. It wouldn’t dare. She got out of the car looking every bit as perfect as when she got in.

I, on the other hand, got out bearing an uncanny resemblance to the Bride of Frankenstein. I caught a glimpse of myself in the restaurant’s plate glass window and choked back a gasp. It looked like my hair had been styled with a salad spinner.

The minute we were in the restaurant, I excused myself and dashed to the ladies room. I tried to tame down my curls, but it was hopeless. Finally, I gave up and headed back to the table. Oh, well. At least there was a steak at the end of the rainbow.

I joined Sam and Andrew, who were ensconced side by side in a plush leather booth. If she were sitting any closer, she would’ve been in his lap. I wondered if they, like Kandi and Steve, would soon be playing footsy under the table.

I slid in across from them, blushing as my slacks made a godawful squeaky noise against the leather.

“The steaks here are marvelous,” Andrew said. “You’ve got to try one.”

“Oh, Andy,” Sam said. “Jaine’s not going to order a steak. Not if she expects to keep her girlish figure.”

Hey, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have sworn that was a dig. And I did know better, and it was a dig.

“You men are so lucky. You can pack it away and it never shows, but not us. Right, Porky?”

Okay, she didn’t really call me Porky, but after that girlish figure crack, I knew that’s what she was thinking.

When the waiter showed up, Andrew ordered the top sirloin medium rare with fries. With all my heart and soul, I wanted to say, “I’ll have that, too.” But I couldn’t, not with Sam having practically ordered me not to. So I ordered what Sam was having, the chopped salad.

“So,” Sam said, when the waiter was gone, “tell us about yourself, Jaine.”

I launched into my spiel, telling her how I’d worked for years as an advertising copywriter before striking out on my own as a freelance writer, how I enjoyed the challenges of varied accounts and the satisfaction that comes from a job well done, all the while trying not to use the word Toiletmasters too much.