The black crepe dress fit her well; she had lost twelve pounds in two months, and now she was satisfied that she had a perfect body, though she wished her breasts weren't quite so impressive. She congratulated herself on the crowning touch – the absence of a brassiere – and wondered why someone who resented men so much could take such pleasure in arousing them. Sadism, maybe, she told herself, recalling a bit of Freud from night school; but she had never knowingly inflicted pain on any woman – or any man, for that matter.

The dress was short – two inches above the knee. Her thighs were firm now, and when she walked, only her breasts would move. Her ass was too small for a woman's really, but she liked the way she looked in jeans.

The bar was in the San Fernando Valley, a well-known singles' hangout. It was a Friday, and the narrow aisles that led from the counter to the tables were filled with flesh, male and female. The men seemed to be posing; elbows on the surface of the bar and drinks in hand, their other arms dangling at their sides, cigarettes between forefinger and index. A surprising number of the men appeared to be successful.

She was self-conscious, and so she especially noticed the eyes that stirred to focus on her when she entered. A slim middle-aged man, gray-flannel suit and Brooks Brothers shirt, retreated on his heels when his out thrust hand with burning cigarette almost brushed against her. Irene plunged through the mass of humanity and felt the heat of the bodies. She lost the scent of her perfume in the odor of sweating men and women.

There was an empty stool at the bar. She sat down, and less than a minute passed before she felt the pressure of a hand on the roundness of her shoulder. "Hello," started a young man, sandy-haired and thin, with an angular face and imperfect teeth. "Can I buy you a drink?"

She pressed her lips together, and the slightest hint of a tongue tip pushed through the folds and wet the middle of the upper lip. "Yes," she smiled, "bourbon and water." She spoke softly, and he asked her to repeat her request. He summoned a bartender and shouted the order; the attendant disappeared for a moment, then returned with a glass. The sandy-haired young man extended his American Express card, and a bill was written up, which he signed.