Kathy Smith was doing something different tonight, having just quit her job.  She
visited Charley's, a bar she owned in town.  Normally, she would sit at a table,
but tonight she wanted to talk to Charley.  She was sitting at the corner of the
bar nursing a club soda with a lime.  It was nearly eleven o'clock on a Friday
night in Norfolk, Virginia.  The crowd was, as usual, almost all Navy personnel. 
Located across from the main gate of the Naval Base, it was a primary hangout for
sailors.  After all, Norfolk was the headquarters facility of the entire U.S.
Atlantic Fleet.     Charley, the manager and ostensible owner, was protective of
Kathy.  He was tending bar while looking over the crowd.  Although he made a
point of keeping the stool next to hers free, while he was at the other end of
the bar a naval officer in uniform sat on the stool next to hers.  Although he
wore the rank of commander, he looked like a wreck.  His uniform looked like it
had been slept in despite the man looking like he hadn't slept in days.  Charley
didn't like it, but there wasn't much he could do about it.  The officer looked
dead tired, but he was still about six feet three, and appeared to weigh
something better than two hundred pounds.  He was more than Charley cared to take
on.

Kathy looked at the officer and felt a unique sensation surge through her.
Without conscious thought, she turned and said, "You look like you lost your last
friend." Charley saw what was happening and was astonished.  This was the first
time Kathy had ever spoken to anyone in the place except for himself and a few of
the staff.  For that matter, she seldom came in at all.

Kathy Smith was a built like a dream: five feet seven, with a figure and
movements like an athletic model.  Although not apparent from her present
conservative dress, Charley knew she had a perfect figure.  Tonight she was
wearing a camel's hair skirt, cashmere sweaters, and a simple gold chain.  'As
usual,' Charley thought, 'She looks like a million bucks.' Kathy continued
looking at the stranger and feeling the strange sensation. The officer tried to
focus on her.  "I don't like women!"

"Why not?" she asked quietly.

"They're all bitches!"

"All of them?"

"I guess so... at least my ex-wife is.  She's a real bitch." "Have you eaten?"
Kathy asked.  'My God!  what am I doing!?' she wondered. "I guess so, but I can't
remember exactly when."

"Today?"

"I'm not sure."

"Would you like to take a ride?"

"Let's go."

Kathy got up off her stool and gave Charley a private wink on the way out.
Charley just shook his head in amazement.  She and the officer went around the
corner of the building to her car, a new BMW 635 CSi.  She unlocked it and said,
"Hop in."

"Is this *yours*?"

"Yes."

"The B-girl business must be better than I thought.  I had better warn you,
though: I don't have any money.  What little my ex-wife didn't get, my lawyer
did." Kathy gave him an icy look.  "Thanks a lot."

Kathy started the BMW up and drove off, smoothly shifting up through the gears. 
After leaving the Expressway, she drove in a circuitous route to an
office-apartment complex in Virginia Beach.  At a gate, she reached for an
electronic controller, pressed the button and the gate swung open.  Beyond the
courtyard a garage door was automatically rising.  She drove into the garage and
shut off the engine.

"Hop out.  We're here."

"Where is here?" he asked.

"My place.  Come on up."  She took a key from her purse and put it into a wall
switch.  The steel door in front of them slid open revealing a wood- paneled
elevator car.  They got in and Kathy pushed an unmarked button.  As she did, she
turned to her companion and held out her hand.  "Let me introduce myself.  My
name is Kathy Smith." "Hi.  I'm Ken Stark."  He shook hands and was surprised at
the firmness of her grip. The elevator door smoothly slid open revealing a
quietly decorated entrance hall.  To their right was the main entrance to the
apart ment.  They went on through the living room to the kitchen with Kathy
turning on lights as she went.  "What would you like?  I could whip up a couple
of steaks and a salad, if that's okay."

"That sounds great," Ken replied.

Kathy noticed that Ken was starting to relax.  She noticed laugh lines now
appearing when he smiled.  It was obvious that his depressed attitude was not his
normal condition.  "Why don't you make yourself comfortable?  Would you like to
fix yourself a drink?" "Sure.  What do you have and where do you keep it?"

"Just about everything, and it's in the bar over there." Ken looked and saw a
fully-equipped wet bar located between the living room and another room he
guessed to be the library.  "I think I'll just have a beer.  What can I get you?"
"I'll join you.  There's Sam Adams in the refrigerator." He opened the
refrigerator and found at least six brands of beer.  Most were imported.  He
found the Sam Adams and opened two bottles.  "Do you want a glass?" "Please. 
They're in the cabinet right above you."

Ken found the beer glasses in a chiller paneled to appear to be a piece of
furniture.  He poured the beers and returned to the kitchen.  "All the comforts. 
I've never seen a place with so many.  The B-girl business is *much* better than
I thought."

"That's the second time you've said that, and I didn't appreciate it the first
time.  Actually, I'm a lawyer."

"Business must be pretty good.  How old are you, anyway?" "Not that it's any of
your business, but I'm twenty-six.  How old are you?" "How old am I, or how old
do I feel?"

"Both."

"Well, I guess my driver's license says I'm thirty-one; I just feel like I'm
110."     While they talking Kathy was preparing two gorgeous steaks.  "Do you
like spicy food?" "I guess so.  Why?"

"I'll try something different, then.  Tell me about your problems." "I would
rather not.  It would just bore you and infuriate me." "Would you like to clean
up a bit?  You look like you've been going for days.  Come on, I'll show you
where."  Ken allowed himself to be led to the master bedroom and then into a
bathroom off it.

"Good grief!  I've never seen anything quite like this."  He stopped and stared
like a bumpkin.  The bathroom was larger than most bedrooms.  It had two sinks, a
shower, a tub the size of a small swimming pool and opened out through glass
doors to a private swimming pool area beyond. The area was beautifully landscaped
and surrounded with a palisade-type fence about ten feet high providing complete
privacy in all directions except from directly overhead.  Ken turned to Kathy,
"What floor are we on?"

She grinned.  "The sixth.  Why?"

"Just asking.  I thought it was impossible to put a swimming pool up this high."
"It can be done.  It just takes money."

"Obviously."

Kathy left Ken alone in the bathroom after showing him where a full array of
men's toiletries were kept.  Ken continued to look around in amazement. His wife
had been a world-class slob, particularly in the bathroom.  There were always
undies, makeup, tissues and other debris lying around.  Ken thought about taking
a shower, but didn't feel like getting back into his dirty clothes.  He realized
he looked terrible.  Taking off his tunic -- he was wearing his officer's whites
-- Ken decided to settle on a wash and a shave.  A whore's bath would have to do.
 He noticed that all the men's toiletries were Polo by Ralph Lauren.  Since every
container was the same shade of green, it took a few moments to figure out which
was which.  He washed, shaved, splashed on some cologne and started to feel human
again. After dressing again he returned to the kitchen.

"Feel better?" Kathy asked.  "You certainly look and smell better, at least if
you like the fragrance of Polo.  I do."

"Who's stuff is that?  Isn't your boyfriend going to be pissed when he finds a
stranger has been using his things?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

"Then what is it there for?"

"For you to use.  And you just did.  Let's eat.  I didn't think I was hungry
until I started cooking.  Now I'm famished."

"Good grief!  It's almost two o'clock."

"As I said, let's eat," Kathy repeated with a smile.

They sat down at a counter built as a part of the kitchen cabinets.  The two
steaks looked beautiful; they had been Cajun blackened.  Along with baked
potatoes, there was a beautiful salad.  Ken went to the bar and returned with two
more beers.  The dinner passed without conversation.  When they finished, Kathy
told Ken to go into the living room and sit down while she cleaned up.

He sat down on the sofa and that was the last thing he remembered.