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She solemnly insisted on making breakfast He had eggs and Beefstrips in his antique round-cornered refrigerator and she did an expert job on them, as if she had once been a short-order cook-or was that simply the way women did things? He had never caught the knack of frying eggs. They always came out with broken yokes and crackling seared edges.
    She regarded him with her wide brown eyes from across the table. He was hungry and ate quickly. Not much on delicacy and manners, he thought. So what? What more could she expect from him—or he from her?
    “I don’t usually stay the night, you know,” she said. “I call a lot of cabs at four in the morning when the guy’s asleep. But you kept me busy until five and I just…didn’t want to. You wore me out”
    He nodded and wiped up the last perfection of semisolid yoke with the last bite of toast. He didn’t particularly care to know how many men she had been to bed with. Quite a few, by the sound of things.
    Vergil had had three conquests in his entire life, only one moderately satisfactory. The first at seventeen—an incredible stroke of luck—and the thud a year ago. The third had been the satisfactory one and had hurt him. That was the occasion that had forced him to accept his status as a hell of a mind but not much for looks.
    “That sounds horrible, doesn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, about the cabs and everything.” She kept staring at nun. “You made me come six times,” she said.
    “Good.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Thirty-two,” he said.
    “You act like a teenager-in bed, I mean. Stamina.”
    He hadn’t done nearly so well as a teenager.
    “Did you enjoy it?”
    He put his fork down and looked up, musing. He had enjoyed it too much. When would the next time be? “Yes, I did.”
    “You know why I picked you out of the crowd?” She had barely touched her single egg, and now chewed the end from her lone Beefstrip. Throughout the night, her nails had emerged unmarred. At least she hadn’t scratched him. Would he have liked that?
    “No,” he said.
    “Because I knew you were a techie. I’ve never screwed—I mean, made love with a techie before. Vergil. That’s right isn’t it? Vergil Ian Ull-am.”
    “Oo-lam,” he corrected.
    “I would have started sooner if I’d known,” she said, she smiled. Her teeth were white and even, if a touch large. Her imperfections endeared her to him even more.
    “Thank you. I can’t speak…or whatever for all of us. Them. Techies. Whoever.”
    “Well, I think you’re very sweet,” she said. The smile faded, replaced by serious speculation. “More than sweet. Honest to God, Vergil. You’re the best fuck I ever had. Do you have to go to work today?”
    “No,” he said. “I work my own hours.”
    “Good. Done with your breakfast?”
    Three more before noon. He couldn’t believe it.
    Candice was sore when she left. “I feel like I’ve just trained a year for the pentathlon,” she said as she stood at the door, coat in hand. “Do you want me to come back tonight? I mean, to visit?” She looked anxious. “I couldn’t make love any more. I think you’ve brought on my period early.”
    “Please,” he said, reaching for her hand. “That would be nice.” They shook hands rather formally and Candice walked out into the spring sunshine. Vergil stood at the door for a while, alternately smiling and shaking his head in disbelief.
    CHAPTER FIVE
    Vergil’s taste in food began to change a week into his relationship with Candice. Until then, he had stubbornly pursued sweets and starches, fatty meats and bread and butter. His favorite food was a garbage pizza; there was a parlor nearby that cheerfully loaded pineapple and prosciutto on top of the anchovies and olives.
    Candice suggested he cut down his intake of grease and fat—she called it “that oily shit”—and increase his greens and grains. His body seemed to agree.
    The amount of food he ate also declined. He reached satiety faster. His