Chapter 1

Lynne sat at her cubicle, her elbow on her desk and her forehead propped in her palm. She spoke into the telephone. "I want to know who's responsible and that person's supervisor ... names. I want names." She listened and jotted on a notepad. "I'm not going to escalate this up the chain of command if you can provide me a correction within fifteen minutes ... that's right, fifteen minutes and the clock starts NOW!" She listened more. "Oh, you can count on it. If I don't get that correction in fifteen minutes, you can count on it." She slammed the handset into its cradle.

"Imbeciles," she muttered. Lynne glanced up and across the aisle at her colleague, Debbie. Debbie was a heavy-set woman in her early thirties, about Lynne's age. She had curly blonde hair, a round face and blue eyes.

Debbie scooted her office chair across the aisle and into Lynne's cubicle. "You sound unusually cranky today," she remarked. "Is it that time of the month?"

"It's the idiots in this broker's back office. This is the second time they've screwed up in two days. I swear -- they don't make the same mistake twice, but they make them all once."

"You don't just want it corrected," Debbie remarked, "you want to hear them cry Uncle."

"Is that really what I sounded like?" She held her forehead again. "Maybe I am extra cranky today. The twins are staying with Steve for the weekend."

"All weekend?"

"Yeah ... He'll pick them up from school this afternoon and drop them off there Monday morning. Every time I call him to work out the details he's after me to change the settlement."

"Does he want more time or less?" Debbie asked.

"Less. Having the twins around apparently crimps his social style."

"That should be easy enough for you to accommodate."

"He also wants to pay less in support."

"That's a formula set by the courts, isn't it?"

"Yes, but I can't seem to get that fact through his thick skull and into his pea-sized brain. God, I wonder what I ever saw in that loser." She regarded her screen. "Here's my correction ... Yes they got it right. Hallelujah."

"If it's worth doing, it's worth doing over," Debbie remarked. "Want to go down for lunch?"

"Sure..." Lynne picked up her bag and walked with Debbie toward the elevator. They rode to the cafeteria-style lunch room on the ground floor.

Debbie found a table in the corner and Lynne brought her tray. "I dread it when the twins are with Steve," she said. "I'm all alone in the house, and Steve just lets them do whatever they want, so when I get them back after a visit it takes a day or two to get them back on schedule."

"You should use this as a found weekend to do something for you," Debbie replied. "You need a hobby or to be in some organization ... volunteer..."

"I don't have time for that most days. I'll end up, moping around and waiting for the twins to return."

Debbie regarded her. "How long has it been?"

"How long as what been?"

"Since you've got your ticket punched."

"My ticket punched?"

Debbie made a circle with her left thumb and forefinger and poked her right finger into it. "You know -- a little of the old in-out?" Lynne felt her cheeks getting warm. "That long, huh? You need to go out and find yourself an hombre."

"I'm not ready to get back into the dating scene," Lynne replied. "I dread thinking about it. I just don't have the fortitude for a new relationship."

"Relationship? You don't need no stinkin' relationship."

"Do you mean a casual hookup?"

Debbie's eyes sparkled. "Do you want to know what I do?" she asked, sotto voce.

"Why don't you tell me?"

"I go over to the Wilmington and sit in the bar. I get a drink I can nurse and see if I get picked up. There are a lot of men traveling on business, looking for some diversion on a Friday night."

"Debbie! I had no idea. How often do you do this?"

"Whenever I get the itch. I'm like you -- failed marriage, failed relationships, failure at dating ... It doesn't diminish my need for a warm body once in a while." Debbie bit her lip, her eyes wide. "Let's do that tonight. I'll be your wingwoman. We'll sit at a table and see what kind of luck we have."

"I've never sat at a bar," Lynne protested. "I wouldn't know what to order."

"Dry vermouth on the rocks with a twist," Debbie replied. "It's low alcohol so you can have a couple without getting blotto, and if you need to nurse it, you can chew on the ice cubes."

"Suppose some guy shows some interest. What do you do, next?"

"I do a little flirting."

"I don't flirt," Lynne replied. "I don't even know how to flirt."

"It's easy ... and, it's fun. You act a little giggly, laugh at their jokes ... make small talk. Then, if the chemistry's right, you get invited up to his room and see where that goes. You can always bail; or, you can linger." She made a devilish smile. "If things really click you get your horns clipped ... stay the night even. Then, he gets on his flight the next day and you never see him again. It's perfect. You're in control. You get to vet the guy in an environment where he can't do anything unwelcome. You can leave whenever you want, and you don't even have to worry about how the house looks or if your bed is made. It's great."

"This is your routine?" Lynne asked.

"Uh-huh," Debbie replied, nodding. "A woman needs sex -- it keeps her healthy, both physically and mentally. What do you say?"

"I don't know..."

"Come on -- you're free for the weekend. What's the downside?"

"What if he's some degenerate?"

"You become a judge of that. Besides -- this is the Wilmington, not some cheap motel. The guys staying there are on expense accounts and not from fly-by-night outfits." Debbie regarded her. "You're thinking about it ... I know you're thinking, why not have a change of pace for once?"

"So, go over right after work?" Lynne asked.

"I go home, have some dinner, freshen up, change my clothes and then head for the hotel."

"What would I wear?" Lynne asked.

"Do you have a little black dress? Something that shows an adequate amount of skin but isn't trashy?"

"No, I don't, but I can probably put something together."

Debbie shook her head. "Little black dress. You want something that telegraphs, available. You don't want something that telegraphs, street-walker. Let's cut lunch short and head over to Hubbards. I'm sure they'll have something. God, Lynne -- you're so lucky. You have a figure like a model's..."

"I wish."

"Closer to one then I have. Come on -- let's dump our trays -- Hubbards is across the street and down a block."

Lynne stepped from the shower, her hair stuffed in a shower cap. She dried herself and slipped into a black bra and matching briefs. She regarded herself in a full-length mirror. Lynne was on the cusp of petite -- five foot four, slender and small-breasted. Her silky, raven hair was long and extended past her shoulder blades.

From the plastic bag imprinted with Hubbards's logo she withdrew the dress she had bought and slid it over her head. It was a simple, sleeveless black dress. She adjusted the shoulder straps to cover her those of her bra and tugged and smoothed the fabric. Regarding herself again in the full-length mirror she thought the hem a bit shorter than for her comfort, but she was happy with how her butt looked in it. If I could only lose some here, she thought and slapped her thighs near her hips. She slipped into a pair of black heels and was pleased with how her calves looked. Overall, she thought, not bad for an old dame.

She stepped to her vanity and brushed her hair; then, she regarded herself in the mirror over her sink. Her face was oval with high cheekbones, straight nose and medium lips. Her eyes were blue-gray and her skin was creamy. She applied some eye liner and some gloss on her lips, and dabbed a conservative amount of fragrance behind each ear.

Then, she picked up a black, patent leather evening bag and put her billfold and phone into it. From her every-day bag she removed a strip of condoms that Debbie had given her -- think positive, she had said -- and put them in her evening bag. Lynn locked her door, climbed into her car and made the short drive back into town, parking in her assigned space in the structure near the building that housed her office. Taking the elevator to the street she walked the five blocks to the Wilmington.

By the time she reached the hotel she was having second thoughts. Her heart pounding, she walked past the revolving door twice before mustering the courage to walk inside. Stepping past the registration desk she headed for the bar and found a table.

A server approached with an order pad. "Mam?" he asked.

"Oh ... Dry vermouth on the rocks with a twist," she said.

"Very good..."

She looked around at the decor -- a Midwestern attempt to emulate the sort of place found in a fine hotel in midtown Manhattan. Lynne took her smartphone from her bag and placed it on the table. Her server brought her drink and set it before her. "Shall I start a tab?" he asked.

"Sure," she replied. "I'm expecting a friend."

Lynne sipped her drink and looked at the time on her phone. Seven fifteen. Debbie said to meet her at seven...

The phone warbled to indicate an incoming message. She opened it.

So sorry my mom fell and thinks she broke her ankle. Have to take her to ER. Sorry to stiff you. :( Debbie

Shit," Lynne thought, now, what to do? She decided to cut her losses -- finish her drink and head home. She sipped more from her glass, nearly draining it.

"May I join you?" She heard a voice and looked up. Standing near her was a well- groomed young man, perhaps half a dozen years younger than she. He wore a dress shirt, jacket and twill pants but no tie. He had sandy hair and gray eyes.

"Please," she said and placed her bag in her lap.

He extended his hand. "I'm Thomas."

She gripped his hand, gently. "Lynne."

"Pleased to meet you, Lynne. When I walked in I thought you looked like someone I knew, years ago."

"A classmate?" she asked.

"Indeed, from high school. Are you here on business?"

Their server approached. "Sir?"

"Oh. A Stella."

"Very good..."

"I'm sorry," Lynne said. "You were saying..."

"I was asking if you were here on business."

Lynne shrugged. "Of sorts ... You?"

"Yeah ... I had meetings to attend. I fly home tomorrow."

"Where's home?"

"New York."

"City?"

"Yes. I have a place in Brooklyn."

Their server returned with Thomas's beer. "Mam -- another?"

Lynne was beginning to feel the alcohol. What the hell she thought. "Sure."

"Dry vermouth on the rocks, right?"

"With a twist."

"Is that your usual drink?" Thomas asked.

"I don't have a usual drink. I wanted something light."