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The making of a woman continues.

"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I laughed.

"You marketing boys are the ones who get paid to do all the empathy stuff, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. You were the one who was about to kill him. Poor guy."

We found out our schedules took us separate ways today. We didn't even have lunch at the same time. We were still acting like two people who just happened to keep bumping into each other. I didn't want to seem like I was paying too much attention to her. I didn't want to scare her off. Still, we managed to know each others schedules before the waiter could get by to pour my orange juice.

"Are we having dinner tonight as a group?" she asked.

"Don't think so."

"Of course, you'll be going to the strip club."

"Wh-at?" I laughed, nervously.

"By Wednesday, all the men want to go to the strip club. That's why there's always the open night on the agenda. The company can't organize it, but every man from the president on down wants to go. Right?"

She was right, of course. Every trip of this sort I'd ever taken for any company I'd ever worked for involved an unofficial trip to a strip club by mid-week. In my younger days, it always seemed like great fun, and left me horny as hell, but in the past few years it just seemed about as exciting as the Marriott coffee.

"Well, yeah, that's what happens, of course, but..."

"But what?" she laughed. "It's like a dog's nose being wet. Jerry goes to these places. My only rule with him is to go when he's out of town so that he doesn't run into someone from church."

"The zip code rule?"

"You could call it that."

"Truthfully, I've seen it all. So I may not go to the strip club. So there," I teased her.

"What are you gonna do - stay at the hotel and read a book?"

"I might. What are you gonna do?" I said, praying silently for an opening here.

"Well, the women at these conferences don't seem to have this underground network you men do, so I don't know. Any suggestions?" she said, coyly.

"You could go to dinner with me," I said.

"Well, okay. I wouldn't be keeping you from anything, would I?" Now she was really teasing me. I'm a believer that you can figure out what a woman is like in bed from the way she talks to you. Kelly seemed business-like, but a free spirit in a certain reserved way. I could suddenly imagine her taking her top off, leading me to a hotel bed, and saying "I want you to fuck me," if she really got in the mood. Husband or no husband.

But she'd really have to be in the mood. She wasn't lonely or insecure enough to do it for lack of anything better to do, or because she needed validation.

Alcohol could help, but she struck me as the sort who would probably stick to a limit, and for that matter she'd probably pass out before she did something she didn't want to do. Alcohol just lets people do stuff they already want to do.

"I said 'Would you like to check out the Cable Car Museum before dinner?'" she repeated, with a smile. I hadn't heard a word she'd been saying, and I had a feeling she knew why.

"Sure."

We met in the lobby around 4 p.m. Our afternoon sessions were over a bit early (probably because of the strip club effect). I'd switched to a nice golf shirt (no logo) and walking shorts; she was wearing a short sleeve denim shirt over a snug-fitting top and relatively short shorts that showed off her legs, with some dressy sandals. She looked around a bit after seeing me; she didn't really want to be seen heading off with me. I grinned. "You look nice."

"Thanks," she said absently. We headed off.

The Cable Car museum was a quaint, musty little place a short walk from our hotel. It was interesting, if only to get our minds off of the modern corporate world. But they closed at 6, so we soon headed off in search of a restaurant. We found the Zuni Cafe on Market Street.

"Get enough sleep last night?" I asked.

"Yeah. I feel better today than I did yesterday." She was smiling at me, but still seemed a little on edge.

"What kind of wine would you like?"

"Sauvignon Blanc?"

"Sure.

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