Meanwhile, Pamela dodged a bullet and missed a path. Her company was downsizing and she was terrified at the idea of being laid off. She dug in and began working extra hard, putting in long hours, showing her boss Ted just how dedicated she could be. She succeeded in keeping her position, but she also conditioned Ted to expect all that labor. If she had been laid off, she would have landed at e-Den.com, and she would have enjoyed their subsequent and famous success. She would have had time to write.

As it was, she worked harder and internalized more stress. Ted was smart but driven, and he demanded a lot from her. He was short – not more than an inch taller than her five foot six – and he had a Napoleonic way of compensating for his lack of height. He was divorced (four times so far), so he had plenty of time to work and expected it of those around him. Pamela’s neck was almost permanently stiff and her sleep became disturbed. She went to the spa as often as she could find any time, for one of Brian’s therapeutic massages, and she began to wonder about him. Even though he was a large man – six feet tall and big-boned – Pamela assumed he was gay. It wasn’t just where he worked; although the cosmetics/personal indulgence field has at least as high a gay percentage as the entertainment industry, straight people can certainly be found. It was Brian’s fastidious habits, his incisive observations about faces and bodies, his conversation about makeup and clothes. He crossed his legs at the knees. He sampled massage oils on his wrist and had a way of then sniffing them, a way even of checking his own pulse when he was exercising, that wasn’t very masculine.

Pamela told herself it didn’t matter what Brian’s orientation was; she only wanted to continue to be massaged by him. He was at least six or seven years younger than she, anyway. But she was lonely. It got to where she was considering the expense and confession of a dating service.

She arranged to get a facial as well as a massage from Brian. Then she threw hesitation to the wind and asked if she could get a full makeover. She booked appointments for massage, manicure, pedicure, facial, hair cut and color and styling, and makeup. It would be a full afternoon, and she intended to go to a formal opera reception and dinner dance, alone if she couldn’t find a date, afterwards.

Brian would perform all of the treatments. That was his idea; he took Pamela’s call and he arranged the calendar. He was simultaneously excited and apprehensive about the afternoon.

After his experience with the Black Widow, he said he didn’t like makeup and adornments. He often amused himself by visualizing everyone around him without their clothes and jewelry. This wasn’t a voyeuristic or pornographic hobby, and he received no sexual stimulation from it. It’s just that he was fascinated by the human form, no matter what its shape, and he only trusted clean nudity.

What drew him to Pamela was her wonderful clarity. Even though all of his spa clients came to him fresh from the pool or tub or shower, Pamela had an extra shine about her. Maybe it was her freckled skin or the glints in her curly brown hair, but it probably had more to do with her direct personality and open-featured face: Pamela acted clean. He liked that.

If it weren’t for the fact that she talked about men, Brian might have thought she was gay. She didn’t act mannish, but hers was a strong personality, she had perpetually clean fingernails, and there was nothing coquettish about her. He knew she’d never been of those shrieky-eeky females, squealing and jumping around when she saw a girlfriend, never going to a public bathroom alone. He knew without asking that she’d always been good at science. And she had a brusque, take-charge-and-fix-it attitude that he usually only saw in nurses and lesbians. But over time she talked enough that he knew she was straight, and once she booked the makeover appointment, he understood that she was getting serious about finding someone.