"You've said it's a character defect."

"It is, and I probably ought to do something about it. And maybe I will, someday."

"But not today, huh, Bern?"

"Not today," I said, "and not tomorrow, and not the day after tomorrow."

"What's the day after tomorrow?"

"Friday."

"Thanks, Bern. If I didn't have you for a friend I'd have to go out and buy a calendar. What happens on Friday?" I just looked at her, and she put her hand on her forehead. "Duh," she said. "That's when you're gonna do it. Friday night? I guess that means you'll be ordering Perrier at the Bum Rap."

We meet every day after work at a gin mill around the corner for a ritual Thank-God-It's-Finished drink, to unwind after a high-pressure day of washing dogs and peddling books. On those occasional evenings when the work has just begun for me, my standard tipple is Perrier water. Scotch, my usual drug of choice, mixes well with any number of things, but burglary, alas, is not among them.

"But that's okay," she said, "because I won't be there myself." She cocked her head, winked. "I've got a date."

"Anybody I know?"

"Nope. Well, I shouldn't be so quick to say that. You might know her. But I don't."

"You met her online."

"Uh-huh."

"Which service? Date-a-Dyke?"

"They're the best, Bern. They're much better than Lesbe Friends at screening out the teenage boys. What's the deal with adolescent males and gay women, do you have a clue? Why are they so fascinated with us? Because I can assure you it's not reciprocal."

"You mean to say you don't have fantasies of being a fifteen-year-old boy, or fooling around with one?"

"Oddly enough," she said, "I don't. Bern, you were a fifteen-yearold boy once."

"That was before computer dating and online chat rooms."

"Yeah, but it wasn't before Sappho. Did you have a thing about lesbians?"