She was silent. Angela let the silence linger. She saw the younger Mrs. Windborne in the bar, charming, conversing with the stranger. Finally Mrs. Windborne took up her story again.

“We sat in a dark booth and started talking and he told me about his personal life, about how his wife had grown so different from him, how they no longer had much to do with each other, how they each led their own lives. Even their sex lives. When he asked if I’d like to spend the rest of the night with him, I thought, ‘What harm can it do?’ It’s been so long since Raymond has looked at me with that light in his eyes… So we went up to his room. I’ve never told anyone about that. Until now. It’s not like I planned it. I didn’t know it was going to happen. I didn’t…”

Angela spoke softly but firmly. “But my point is that you had decided well before that. You didn’t know the person. You didn’t know the place, but you knew in your heart that you were available. Why do men hit on women? Or women on men? Because they know that some percentage of them are just waiting. The people who are waiting make themselves available. In bars, for instance. So if you’re looking in such places-a bar, a beach, a coffee house-and find one of those people, you have found what you want. You may strike out four times out of five, but then that fifth time…you may not know why or who or when, but that fifth time… It’s just a question of time. Keep your eyes open and you find them, the people who are ready and waiting.”

Angela looked away from her client’s face to the yellow day lilies in the vase on her desk. A coffee house?

“I suppose. Yes, that’s right. I could have thanked him for the drink and gone to my own room. I didn’t need to…do that. But I wanted to. I’ve never admitted that before. But Raymond never knew anything.”

“You know he’s sleeping with someone else, but he couldn’t tell that you’d slept with someone else?”

“It’s different.”

Angela was silent.

“Don’t you think it’s different? For men and women, I mean?”

“Some people say that we may notice more than men as a general rule. But others say it’s a difference in how we talk about things. They say men notice things that they never talk about. If we notice something, we talk about it. But they think if they don’t acknowledge it by talking about it, it isn’t really there. They can ignore it. They can pretend it’s not real. If they don’t talk about it, it’s difficult for us to know what they’re thinking. I think they notice as much as we do, but they don’t talk as freely.”

“So you think he knew but never said anything?”

“Could be. There are no accidents. So that’s the problem in my business. Someone may be in the same situation you were, they may be ready and willing, but they haven’t done anything yet. Are they guilty of anything?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“Were you?”

“Well, I hadn’t actually done anything except…”

Angela remained silent until her new client finished her sentence. “Masturbate. And everybody does that.”

“So, even though you knew you were ready for a fling, you weren’t guilty of anything?”

“Okay, I guess…”

“Our time is almost up, but remember, it depends on how you look at it. What I can do is tell people if their partner is at that stage. But if we think they’ve gone farther, if we think there’s something going on, then we have to get the proof in the old-fashioned way.”

“But your psychic thing? That can help, can’t it?”

“Lots. I can pick up on a plan and send an operative to the right place at the right time. It saves lots of time. And in this business time is money because you’ll be paying for my services and my operatives as well.”

“As long as you bring me the proof.”

“I have another appointment soon, so we’re going to have to stop for now, but another thing to remember is that not everyone wants proof.”

“Why not?” She looked straight into Angela’s eyes, her disbelief showing on her face.

“They may be like Raymond. Suppose he knew something was wrong. Suppose he suspected or knew on some level that you’d been with another man. Or men. Do you think he would ask for proof? Maybe he’d rather not know for sure. Some people are like that. They’d rather not know. It’s enough to confirm their partner’s wish without knowing about their actions.”

“I want to divorce him if he’s fooling around.”

“You don’t need proof for that. We have no-fault divorce in Illinois. All you have to do is ask.”

“Well, I want to know anyway.”

“You understand I’ll need three thousand dollars as a retainer.”

As she got out of the chair, Mrs. Windborne pulled a signed check from her purse and handed it to Angela.

“I’ll be in touch.”

After Mrs. Windborne left Angela sat behind her desk, idly scribbling on a legal tablet. She couldn’t focus on the problem of how to approach the Windborne case. She’d probably need to get a read on Raymond first thing and determine if there was anything going on. Then she could line up some of her operatives to get the details.

Her mind wandered until the phone startled her out of her reverie.

“Did you mean what you said?”

For a moment Angela was confused. Who was speaking? What had she said?

“In the coffee shop yesterday,” the familiar voice continued. “You gave me your card? It had the phone number? At the coffee shop?”

“Ronda?”

“Yes, it’s me. Did you really mean what you said, or were you just being kind?”

“Just let me know when and where.”

“Are you free this afternoon? Tonight? Jeff is away on another business trip. Can you believe the asshole stood me up last night? I’m free today, tonight, tomorrow. If you meant that about the answer to the question I didn’t ask. You said yes. You know what the question was?”

“Whether I’d like to make love with you.”

“And you want to?”

“Yes. I have one more client to see and I will be free at four. Where do you live?”

When Ronda told her the address, Angela said, “I can walk from here. That’s in that area of Frank Lloyd Wright houses, isn’t it?”

“Yes, the one that looks like a Mayan temple if you’re not an archaeologist.”

“I know that place. Is there a place for my car?”

“Asshole’s place. He took his car to the airport with him. The garage door will be open. Push the button by the door to the house to close the garage door, and come in when you get here. You can have his place in the bed too. And the sauna. Through the kitchen, up the stairs, left into the master bedroom, right into the bathroom. First door on the right. I’ll be there. Nobody else will be in the house.”

Angela pulled her small hybrid gas-electric car into the darkness of the open garage and turned off the engine. She walked to the open door and pushed the button and heard the garage door close behind the car. She only briefly noticed the marble countertops and restaurant-quality stainless steel appliances as she walked through the tiled kitchen to the dining room or the starkly beautiful Danish teak furniture arranged on the intricate designs of the Oriental rug. She climbed the stairs to the master bedroom and turned into the bathroom.

There she picked up on the psi patterns, the images of her making love with Ronda in the sauna. Angela unbuttoned her white blouse and folded it carefully onto the marble countertop in front of the mirror. She unhooked her utilitarian bra and put it on top. She unzipped her black slacks and stepped out of them and picked up the bra and blouse to put the folded pants at the base of her clothing. She left her shoes on the floor and put her panties and socks on top of the pile.

Aware of Ronda’s growing urgency, she turned to look at herself in the mirror. At forty-two, she thought she still had an athlete’s body. Her rower’s shoulders were broad and her waist narrow. Her breasts were shapely and curvaceous. The hours working out in the gym after she had the baby had paid off. It was good that she got back to her rowing. It helped her shoulders and chest. The stretch marks were hardly visible.