It was a nice leg – long and smooth. Gil lay on the bed staring at her.

"You operate sort of fast, don't you, Mr. Turner?" she said.

"Always," he affirmed. "Whether in business or in pleasure I don't believe in fooling around. If an act has promise I sign 'em and work my ass off so everybody makes money. If I see a girl I like I tell her so. Why not?" Connie was wearing casual shoes but they had heels. "Stand up and walk across the room," Gil said. She stared at him briefly, surprised, then tilted her head to the side and set her martini down on the table beside her. "Why not?" she said, rising and strutting slowly about the room.

"Do you like me?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't," he said. "Got any boyfriends?"

"Casual dates – you know."

"Do you swing for money or what?" Lots of the cocktail girls in Vegas, Tahoe, anyplace where there's gambling are part-time hookers. Connie certainly had the looks for it and Gil wondered if she supplemented her income with extre-curricular fucking.

"No, Mr. Turner. Some of the girls do, but I do not." Her voice was a bit icy. "It isn't my scene."

"What is your scene?"

"Right now I really don't know. I suppose someday I'll meet someone I dig, preferably with money, and get married."

"Naturally," Gil said. "The reason I ask is, I travel a lot and I get lonely. There's a lot of paper work that has to go back and forth from me to my office in New York. I could use someone like you to travel with me for a while. It would pay good, even when you wouldn't be working and I'm in New York. I'm not talking about getting married, I'm talking about getting laid. Regularly."

"Naturally," Connie said. "And you're married?"

"Naturally," Gil said. "Do you type?"

"Of course not," she said.

"I figured," he said. "Take your top off," he said.