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my right as I went in was the Lady Luck Bar, the "longest bar in Nevada," and behind it on the wall light was still flickering from number to number around the oversize roulette wheel, which meant that somebody seated at one of the matching numbers at the bar would wind up with a free silver dollar.
    The place was so jammed that I didn't see Freddy right away, but I walked around the table of hot hors d'oeuvres and then between the cocktail tables on my left and the bar on my right, till almost at the end I spotted him.
    I should have known. He was completely oblivious of all the hubbub around him, and was leaning forward talking to a woman seated at the far end of the Lady Luck Bar. I couldn't tell much about her except that she had a whole mass of hair piled high on top of her head. Even for me, that was almost too much hair. But if Freddy was all wrapped up in a fast conversation with her, she was probably choice enough. As I walked closer to them I noticed a young guy pounding on the bar with a silver dollar, trying to get a drink out of Freddy. Freddy kept on talking.
    He said something to the girl and she laughed, throwing back her head. It was a nice, healthy, honest laugh and I liked it. I was feeling better. I got clear up to the end and stopped about a foot from the girl, between her stool and the next one, which was also occupied. Freddy was going along a mile a minute, his blue eyes merry under straight, thick eyebrows as black as his crinkly hair. He had good strong teeth and you saw a lot of them because he was a happy kind of guy. And a damned good-looking guy.
    I just stood there, and I hadn't paid much attention to the girl, but I looked at her as she took a cigarette out of her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and brushed at a stray bit of tobacco with the tip of a long red fingernail. Just as she flicked it away, she slanted her eyes over toward me. I was gawking at her, and her lips curved a little and her eyes wrinkled with the start of a smile.
    I was dead.
    She was beautiful, out of this world, wonderful. It hit me all in a rush, with no details right away, but only the first total impression of her, and I just stood there and looked. The wide-eyed innocence of a brand new Eve bloomed on her face, but it was on a body that had been improved through two billion years: a body that was sex boiled and distilled till only the essence was left. She had rust-red hair and soft brown eyes, and lips that were mobile and full and smooth, but I had to get back to that incredible body.
    She was Woman, that's all, just sex on wheels in high gear and going downhill; no brakes and a hand on the horn. She wasn't in Western costume; she was dressed for afternoon cocktails in a black skirt and a wine-colored faille jacket worn outside the skirt and held with a wide golden belt. The collar of the jacket stood up behind her neck, with two little points like wings at each side of her head, and the front slanted down in a wide V, and her white breasts peeked out of the V as if anxious to get a good look, which also described me at the moment.
    And she couldn't have been wearing a brassiere because there just wasn't room for it. She might have been wearing two Band-aids, but nothing much bigger than that. And right at those points in my pleasant conjectures she leaned way over, way to hell over, and stubbed out her cigarette, and in the wine-tinted shadow cast by her jacket as it fell forward away from her body I caught a curving flash of creamy white blending into a rosy sphere and I knew for sure she wasn't wearing Band-aids.
    I was being rude and lecherous and not at all the little gentleman, and my only excuse was that I didn't even know it: I simply stood there like a dying man who had only that moment discovered that women were different. I just stood there and stood there and looked and looked.
    She didn't seem to mind. She didn't seem to mind a bit. But finally she turned her head and looked at me and said in a soft,