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men from a crowd when she could find good qualities—physical, mental, emotional, and, certainly, financial—in any man?
    Clarissa said, “As an owner, Amanda, you should avoid dating any of the contestants. These guys have to be available to the customers. It won’t do if they follow you around all night.”
    “Business, not pleasure.” For Amanda, there was no other business. “You and Frank are so committed to the cause,” she said to Clarissa. Frank was…Amanda wasn’t sure where Frank was. Doing something useful, no doubt.
    “You’re not?” Clarissa asked.
    “I guess I don’t have such clear-cut motivation,” said Amanda. “Frank needs this place almost desperately, like it’s her last surviving family member besides me. Actually, it is.”
    “Sorry again about your parents.”
    “I’m looking for my own family,” Amanda went on. “I’m sure you think it’s naive to believe in a soul mate. He could be here, right now. And maybe he’s rich enough to pay off our debts. Then Frank could have her store. I could have my spiritual partner. Everyone would be happy.”
    Clarissa tallied the contestants. “Don’t count on a man for anything, Amanda,” she said. “I don’t. Not that I’m cynical. I want love in my life. But I don’t want to be disappointed, either. That’s why I set realistic goals. I stick with the job in front of me.”
    “That’s not cynical?” Amanda asked. “You’re only twenty-four.”
    “I’ve lived in New York my entire life,” she said. “So I’m older than that.”
    Amanda, also a lifetime resident of the five boroughs, laughed. She could learn a lot from Clarissa about one of her true failings: focus. She’d always been scattered, easily distracted, looking for the next love affair, job, or friendship. Amanda said, “Maybe I have ADD.”
    Clarissa said, “What are you talking about?”
    “I really admire you, Clarissa.”
    “I like you, too.”
    “Is this a moment?” asked Amanda.
    “Should we hug?” asked Clarissa.
    Amanda was satisfied with the exchange of dopey grins. She felt excitement flutter in her chest. Would Clarissa—her equal in the attractiveness department—become a genuine friend? A female one, at that? The thought was almost as tantalizing as a new boyfriend. Speaking of which…“Number one!” Amanda called into the waiting crowd.
    A man approached the two ladies as they sat behind one of the new Formica-topped tables. He was young—early twenties—with a goatee. Amanda whispered to Clarissa, “Long nose, sign of an honest and trusting nature. Curly hair, could be stubborn, but he’d back down without too much trouble.”
    Clarissa gave Amanda a fishy look. So not everyone appreciated her flash-appraisal game. Just do what Clarissa does, she told herself. Stick to the job at hand: scrutinizing contestants. Or potential soul mates. This is how lines get blurred, Amanda said to herself.
    The man dropped his application card on the table and introduced himself. He was cute, sweet. Amanda thought he’d make a cuddly little brother. After looking at his info, Clarissa said, “Pierrepont Street? That’s a pretty ritzy block for a young guy like you.”
    “I still live with my parents,” he said. “Mom thinks that in another year or two, I’ll be ready to get a job and move out.”
    “Next!” said Clarissa.
    Number two: “I’m just wondering if ‘all the coffee you can drink’ means you have to drink it here. Can I take some home with me? In a thermos? I’ve got a collection of thermoses. Five hundred of them from all over this great land of ours.”
    Number five: “I assume I don’t have to do anything stupid like sing or dance for this contest. I’m not singing or dancing. No way. Because singing and dancing is for faggots. They can take their musical faggot shit and shove it up their asses.”
    Number nine: “The idea is to use me for chicks. I get it. I’m the whore and you’re the pimp. Am I right? You’re