In fact, Sachs detected mostly envy. Kara continued, "I haven't had much luck lately in the man department."

"Not seeing anybody?"

"I'm not sure," Kara replied pensively. "Our last contact was French toast and mimosas. My place. Brunch in bed. Way romantic. He said he'd call me the next day."

"And no call."

"No call. Oh, and maybe I should add that the aforementioned brunch was three weeks ago."

"Have you called him?"

"I wouldn't do that," she said firmly. "It's in his court."

"Good for you." Pride and power were born joined at the hip, Sachs knew.

Kara laughed. "There's an old routine a magician named William Ellsworth Robinson did. It was way popular. It was called How to Get Rid of a Wife, or The Divorce Machine." A laugh. "That's my story. I can vanish boyfriends faster than anybody."

"Well, they're also pretty good at vanishing themselves, you know," Sachs offered.

"Most of the guys I'd meet working at my old job, the magazine, or the store're interested in two things. A one-night romp in the hay. Or else the opposite—wooing then settling down in the 'burbs. . . . You ever get wooed?"

"Sure," Sachs said. "It can be creepy. Depending on the wooer, of course."

"You got it, sister. So hay-romping or wooing and 'burb-settling . . . they're both a problem for me. I don't want either. Well, a romp now and then. Let's be realistic."

"What about men in the business?"

"Ah, so you noticed I excluded them from the romp/woo equation. Other performers . . . naw, I don't go there. Too many conflicts of interest. They also claim they like strong women but the truth is most of them don't want us in the business at all. The ratio of men to women is about a hundred to one. It's better now. Oh, you see some famous women illusionists. Princess Tenko, an Asian illusionist—she's brilliant. And there're a few others. But that's recent. Twenty, thirty years ago you never saw a woman as the star, only the assistant."

A glance at Sachs. "Kind of like the police, huh?"

"It's not as bad as it used to be. Not my generation. The sixties and seventies—that's when women were breaking the ice. That was the hard time. But I've had my share. I was a portable before I moved to crime-scene and—"

"A what?"

"A portable's a beat cop. If we ever worked Hell's Kitchen in Midtown they'd partner a woman with some experienced male cop. Sometimes I'd have a knuckle-dragger who hated being with a woman. Just hated it. He didn't say a word to me for the entire watch. Eight hours, walking up and down the streets, this guy not saying a word. We'd go ten-sixty-three for lunch and I'd be sitting there trying to be pleasant and he'd be two feet away, reading the sports section and sighing 'cause he had to waste his time with a woman." Memories came back to her. "I was working the Seven-five house—"