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minute.”
    “Who?”
    “Your special friend .” Cindy stands up and regards me, hands on hips. “It’s time you got back to your life.”
    “Who’s my special friend, Cindy?”
    “I mean,” she says, walking into the kitchen, “it’s not that easy to look after you, you know.” She pours herself a glass of something, throws it back, pours another one. “Frankly, it’s become a bore.”
    “Cindy,” I say patiently, “I’m very grateful to you. I really am. But I do just need to change the subject back for a second, because if someone is visiting me, I really need to put some clothes on.”
    “Oh, sure!” she yells, really upset. “You just do what you want! Don’t worry about me and my needs!”
    The buzzer sounds. I sit there uncertainly for a moment, fingering my Calvins, but when Cindy says, “Yes, 6, come on up,” I bolt for the bedroom.

a visit from 6
    She is still stunning. This I cannot get over.
    I mean, we all have our little fantasies, right? But they don’t last. You see the object of your desire a year later and think: Whoa, did I think that was cute? It’s a fleeting thing, is my point. A momentary deception of perception.
    But 6 stands there in her blinding white miniskirt and smooth black business jacket with her hair like a cape of midnight, and she’s captivating.
    “Scat,” she says. Reminders: dark eyes, lips like a rubber dinghy.
    I am wearing pants, a shirt and a jacket that mismatch so badly I’m hoping 6 will mistake them for cool. I haven’t had time to even attempt the shoes, but I have one sock on my right foot and am holding the other in my left hand.
    “6, it’s ... stunning to see you again.”
    She shrugs this off, taking a brief appraisal of the apartment. “Can we go somewhere?”
    “Take me away,” I say, as if she hasn’t already.

café revelations
    “So,” she says, looking me over. I suppress a shiver. “How have you been?”
    I’m momentarily caught between lying and telling the truth, then berate myself. Three months ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. “Oh, fantastic. Losing Fukk was a blow, of course, but I try to look at it as a learning experience.” I shrug. “I’ve got a couple more projects on the go; naturally Fukk was just one of many.”
    “Good.” 6 looks relieved, sipping at her lattè. Perhaps she was worried I would tell the truth.
    “And you?” I brace myself.
    “Well,” she says cautiously, “I’m frantic on Fukk, of course, working ninety hour weeks.” She throws me a glance but I think I’ve managed to remain deadpan. “It’s chaos to get this product on the market for summer.”
    She doesn’t have to spell it out for me. I’m guessing they’ve changed her title to New Products Marketing and Operations Executive, raised her to $200,000 and asked her to please pick out a nice car and send them the bill.
    I manage to say it. “And how’s the launch going?”
    “As expected,” 6 says, still careful. I interpret this to mean: I’m ahead of schedule, I’ve got a $10 million budget and I meet daily with the CEO. “The CTs did ... very well.” Now 6 is saying: I’m pretty sure we’re going to make unbelievable amounts of money.
    “So.” It’s hard to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I guess the board wasn’t fazed by discovering that the guy who sold them Fukk wasn’t the guy who owned it.”
    Almost tenderly, 6 says: “No.”
    I put down my lattè. “I see. So everything’s going great. Everyone’s happy. Coke is going to release the biggest hit soda of the decade, you’re shimmying up the corporate ladder and Sneaky Pete is probably vacationing in Hawaii with my money.” I gesture wildly at the upmarket café and clientele around me. “Then I guess the only reason you brought me here is to rub my nose in it.” I actually stand up at this point, and though I can’t say for sure, I think my eyes are blazing with righteous anger. “I think I’ll leave before you stiff me with the