She drank some more of her lemon drop. She took small, ladylike swallows. She didn’t guzzle, but she was persistent.

“And he was very charming,” I said.

“And sexy and fun,” she said. “And we both had a couple of cocktails, and talked, and one thing led to another…”

“And,” I said, “I’ll bet he had a room in the hotel.”

She looked at me for a moment as if I’d just performed necromancy.

“Yes,” she said, “he did. And…” She shrugged.

“What’s a girl to do,” I said.

She nodded slowly, looking at the depleted surface of her lemon drop.

“I know now he was using me,” she said. “But God, he was good.”

She stopped staring into the martini and finished it.

“What gym do you go to?” I said.

“Pinnacle Fitness,” she said.

“The big flossy thing on Tremont?” I said.

“You know it?” she said.

“I was there once with a client,” I said.

Another lemon-drop martini arrived.

“Do you work out?”

“Some,” I said.

“You look very fit,” she said.

“You, too,” I said.

Mistake.

She smiled again and her face flushed slightly.

“You should see me with my clothes off,” she said.

“Probably should,” I said.

She smiled again and her face flushed a little more.

“Do you have a room upstairs?” she said.

“Sadly, no,” I said.

“I could probably get us one,” she said.

“It’s a kind offer,” I said. “But no, thank you.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“But?”

“But I’m in love with Susan Silverman, and we’ve agreed on monogamy.”

“My goodness,” Abigail said.

“I know,” I said. “Makes me kind of boring, but there it is.”

“What a waste,” she said.

“Everyone says that.”

I drank another swallow of beer.

“When did the money stuff come up?” I said.

“Not right away. He paid for everything the first time we were together, here. I don’t think he took any money from me for, oh, I’d say at least a year, year and a half. Then he said there was some waterfront property in Chatham, which was way underpriced, and he knew he could buy it, we could go there and spend time, and later when the market rose, he’d sell it for a nice profit.”