"Hello?"

"Ah-" Mona hesitated. It was Cassie.

It is essential for a general to be tranquil and obscure, upright and self-disciplined, and able to stupefy the eyes and ears of the officers and troops, keeping them ignorant.

"Hello, Mona. Mitch isn't here right now."

"Cassie, sweetheart. How are you? I was just going to call you."

"Really, why?" That bland, blank voice always set Mona's teeth on edge.

"Why? What kind of question is that? I miss you, of course, silly. Haven't seen you in months and months. And Mitch is off the radar screen, too. He didn't come in this morning. Know where he is? I've got clients looking for him."

Cassie didn't answer, and Mona went on super alert. She had special powers and respected them. Every reader she'd ever consulted had said the same thing. She was acutely sensitive to auras. She could tell a stranger's future. She especially knew who were the winners and losers by their smallest gestures. She could also tell what people were thinking about her.

Mona was so sensitive, in fact, that sometimes her body felt like one giant vibrating nerve. She'd read that rocks and stones and beer cans and bottles that looked solid were really filled with cells that were moving all the time. She was like those cells in matter. She might look like a fragile flower with trembling petals, but really she was the cells in stone. The puppet master of everything; nothing could break or outlast her. She was never lost, whatever challenge she took on. Never. She never lost.

"Are you okay, Cassie? You sound kind of stressed," she said warily.

"Well, I am stressed," Cassie replied tartly.

"Where are you? Why are you talking on Mitch's cell phone?"

"I'll tell you in a few minutes, Mona. Just stay where you are." Cassie broke the connection.

MONA GOT UP AND MARCHED straight to the bathroom. She surveyed herself in the mi rror. She looked pretty good for someone who felt old and ugly no matter what she did. She gave herself a happy little smile and touched up her makeup. Then she galloped down the metal stairway to the floor, where one of her four-inch spike fuck-me shoes suddenly caught on a tiny invisible crack in the cement. Her chronically weak right ankle gave way under her.

"Ow!"

The IRS agent, lurking in the stacks, reached out and caught her deftly, preventing her from falling on the hard floor just as she'd hoped he would. No man or boy had ever been able to resist her except the one from junior high and the ones who were gay.

"Oh my," she cried.

"You okay?" The man's very nice blue eyes lit up only for a second at the sight of her pretty legs, then switched right to concern.

She gazed at him, sizing him up. The eyes were deep blue, like the Mediterranean. Gentle, she could tell. He was attractive, nice build. Nice mouth. His suit was not expensive, though, and she figured him for one of life's losers. From her contact with many men, Mona knew that the jerk who'd let her down in seventh grade could definitely be hers now.

This assessment of the IRS agent made her feel a lot better about life in general. She did not touch his IRS agent biceps to test for muscle. She was nothing if not subtle. She forgot that she was supposed to be out of town for governmental agents and thought this not-bad-looking man might do her some good. She could turn him. You could never have too many IRS agents on your side. "Internal spies-employ people who hold government positions."

"Thank you. I'm so embarrassed. That was so clumsy." She tried to stand on her terrible turned ankle. She did not touch him with such subtlety, only an expert would know she had. The whole thing about men was that you had to know how to go about winning them. Nothing overt, ever.

"Did I hurt you?" She detected a little excitement on his side and let her ankle flop over again, but once again did not cave enough to encourage him.

"Oh no." He created more space between them. "Ha-ha, there you go."

"Oh, thank you." Mona gave him a worshipful glance. "What's your name? I'm supposed to know you, right? I know I know you."

"Charles Schwab," he said, keeping his gaze at eye level. He had as much confidence in the effect of his name as Mona did of her looks.

Mona gave out a great whoop of joy and grabbed her chest. She'd made a mistake and underestimated him. "Oh, I've seen you on TV. Really, I had no idea you were a client. Are you buying for your firm? How exciting. Who's your account executive? I can't believe we've never met."

"Sort of." He showed her his I.D., then passed her an Internal Revenue Service card with his name on it. A pretty blush warmed her tan. She hadn't underestimated him. She always knew everything.

"Oh my, I'm really getting off on the wrong foot with you, aren't I? Revenue agent, what a joke on me," she murmured.

"No, ma'am. It's no joke."

"I mean, I thought you guys were all toads. Oops. I didn't mean that." Mona noticed that the man's eyes went as cold as a hit man's.

But Schwab laughed pleasantly. "A lot of people think we're a lot worse than toads."

"Well, I'm Mona Whitman. Are we getting audited again?"

"Yes, indeed."

She gave him a teasing frown. "Well, I'm a little hurt about this, if you'd like to know the truth. Every year it's something and every year we come out clean. There are so many compliances in our business. It's, like, the most regulated business on earth. But you know that." She heaved a great sigh. "Frankly I thought by now we'd be getting a medal from you people."

She paused for breath.

"And then, after doing everything right, to have to face such scrutiny. What went wrong this time? Ira, our accountant, answered every single question you asked. It took him months to get all that paper together. No one thinks about all those trees we have to cut down. The whole thing just upsets me so much." She gave Schwab a tremulous, searching smile. "Why us?"

He smiled back, almost knocking her out with his white teeth.

"Frankly, I'm just the concept person. I consult for the restaurants. I bet you didn't know they need designers to plan their cellars and menus. I love the company so much. That's why this hurts, you know?" She massaged her foot with one hand, then slid her shoe back on. "That's a lot better."

Schwab was silent, so Mona took this as a sign to keep talking.

"I thought the IRS was getting nicer these days. Didn't I read that in the Times? Are you persecuting Mitch just because he's successful? Or what?"

"How's that ankle?"

"It's terrible. I'll probably never walk straight again. But what can you do, right? Listen, is there something I can help you with? Mitch isn't here right now, and neither is Ira. They were expecting you tomorrow."

"Yeah, it's too bad about his stroke."

"Ira had a stroke?" Mona grabbed her chest a second time.

"No, Mr. Sales did."

"Oh no, you're mistaken," she said confidently.

"I was with his wife this morning. She told me."

"She told you?" Mona's face froze.

"Yes, when we were over at the house."

Mona snorted. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry you had to meet her. Was it terrible for you?"

"It was unusual."

"I'll bet." Mona knew that silly Cassie must have been terrorized by a visit from the IRS and unable to deal with the stress, so she'd blurted out this ridiculous, transparent lie because she couldn't think of an effective strategy like Mona.

Schwab let out a laugh. "She called the police on me. Four squad cars, guns, and everything."

Mona erupted into tinkling laughter herself. "That's priceless. Cassie's a dear in her own way, but she's been a real financial drain. It's like a sickness, a big burden on him. Poor man. Mitch has been a real saint to put up with her." Mona raised her eyebrows. "A wife like that, Mr. Schwab, can ruin a man. But very sweet as a person."