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well, a bar, and alone! Sarah thought, appalled. She would never be caught dead in a bar of any kind. Still, she remembered thinking that the 1940's motif did have a certain charm to it.
    Either the lack of sleep or the charming ambiance of the setting caused her to drift back to the scene in her thoughts. As she opened her eyes, she found herself sitting at the bar, just as she had been in her dream. Surprisingly, she did not feel alarm; instead, she felt an unusual calm settle upon her.
    Her eyes watched as a man strutted across the room, his pant legs billowing as he moved, greeting many people. He seemed to be very popular, especially with the women, she thought almost with some sort of well, almost—jealousy? That was silly. She didn't even know him; she was sure of that much. But people certainly seemed drawn to him for some reason. Something—something about him keyed a feeling in her mind. She just couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe he had been a business acquaintance that she had met and subconsciously the image of him had imbedded itself into her mind . Yes, that was probably it, she thought, dismissing any possibility of an unexplained event.
    For a fleeting moment, she had felt his eyes upon her and she knew that he was heading toward her. Feeling shy, she turned away from his approach and concentrated on taking tiny sips from the drink in front of her. She had wanted to give the appearance that she did not want to be disturbed.
    She nervously smoothed the folds of the black evening dress. What will I say if he tries to converse with me? she thought, panicked. I could talk about work. No, that wouldn't do. Sarah heard her mother's "I told you so" voice ringing in her ears from their numerous discussions of how she lacked social skills in dealing with men.
    He put his hand on the back of her stool. She could hear him inhaling deeply as he stood directly behind her.
    "Tell me about yourself," he said, his calm voice enticing.
    "Me?" she asked coyly.
    "Yes," he answered. "I want to know all about your fascinating self."
    She blushed. "I wouldn't know where to start," she said, as she continued to look ahead and not directly at him.
    "You pick a place and time," he offered.
    Sarah felt a rush of thoughts enter into her mind. Oddly enough, the predominant thought was her mother's warning. "No man will marry a woman who is a perfectionist. They will say you are too 'picky' to live with. Always criticizing. Can't please anyone but yourself."
    "That's not true," the man said, startling her. "Being a perfectionist is an amiable trait to possess."
    "My dad would tell me the same thing," she said. "He would smile at me and say not to worry about it, to just be myself, always."
    "You loved your father a lot, didn't you?"
    "Yes. I loved him immensely," she said, feeling an emotional swell within her. "I was very saddened at his premature death. I wished that we could have had more time together. He understood me so well that he always seemed to have the solution, regardless of the problem."
    "But you're troubled about something else, aren't you?" His voice was so soothing that Sarah just wanted to keep hearing it.
    "Yes. I always wanted to know more about the past, his past."
    "Tell me about your past," he asked, his voice inviting her to continue.
    "Well, as you already know, I am a bit of a perfectionist. I’ve been this way throughout my school years from grammar school to college. I am an extremely hard worker and I graduated at the top of my class in high school."
    "You had many admirers, didn't you?"
    "Not exactly. I was 'a wallflower,' the one never asked to the dances. But that was okay with me. I knew I looked nice and had an amiable personality and all, but I had a different set of priorities that drove my life. A relationship wasn't near the top of the list, at least not for a while anyway. When I was in college, I threw myself into my work and ignored everything else around me. Because of these efforts, I