When I met Wally at the C’est Soir—oh, I hadn’t mentioned his name before, had I? I was so caught up in Wally’s eyes when David was introducing us that I hadn’t heard a word he’d said, even his name. Which turned out to be awkward, masking my lack of knowledge with ah’s and uh’s, and calling him “handsome” whenever I couldn’t cover with anything else.
“My name is Wally,” he finally said, with a grin. “I was wondering how long you’d try to fake it without asking.”
I just smiled my most boyish smile.
We spent the night and the next day together and, wonder of wonders, things got even better. He was hairy. I love hair on a man—that sounds dumb, doesn’t it? I certainly wouldn’t like to see it on a child.
We discovered problems with the time we could spend together. I worked a normal forty-
