Play-going was all the rage, in part because a man could take his wife. And the wives knew that.

I gave my name at the door. It was no shibboleth. I tried Belinda's.

There was the magic.

A veteran brunette--absolutely a heartbreaker not long ago--turned up quickly. She had something special going. I was tempted to fail to remember that I was taken.

"You came from Miss Contague?"

"She asked me to keep watch on your injured guest."

She considered my claim. She considered me. She consulted some recollection. She decided that I was the real thing, though she was not prepared to be impressed. My feelings were bruised. I was willing to be impressed by her. And I was as fine a specimen of former Marine as you're likely to find still vertical. I had my dings and scars but they just let you know that I was the genuine article.

"All right. Come with me." After a glare that dared me to even think about running with that.

We passed through the fancy public lounge works, entirely uninhabited at the moment. Potential witnesses had been cleared out. In the back, where delicacies comestible and sensual got prepared, I spied several toothsome lasses enjoying a light repast and steadfastly taking no interest whatsoever in anyone passing through. Two appeared to be full-blood elf girls. The others were nearly as gorgeous.

"Stop slobbering on the carpet."

"Sorry. I don't get out much anymore."

"Here's a suggestion. Keep your hands to yourself while you're here." Then she snorted. She was one of those people who can't keep their laughter out of their noses. It took me a few seconds to get the joke.

"I'm taken," I said stiffly.

"Most of our clients are." We came to a narrow, steep back stair.

"I'm Garrett," I said, though my name had failed to awe anyone yet.

"I know. I've heard of you. I'm aware of your reputation."