"Archy," she said, nibbling on a garlic crouton, "why have you never married?"

I had an oft-repeated response to that. "I am very prone to allergies," I told her. "Research has shown that more than half of all divorces are caused by one spouse becoming allergic to the other. I just can't take the chance."

That sinfully entrancing dimple appeared and she shook her head hopelessly. "You're a devil," she said.

"That wounds," I said. "All I wish to be is your guardian angel. Where are you from, Theo?"

"Michigan," she said promptly. "Isn't everyone?"

"During the tourist season one might think so. I understand Michiganders refer to Florida as the Lower Peninsula. Tell me, if a man is a Michigander, is a woman a Michigoose?"

She ignored that antiquated wheeze-and rightly so. "Where are you from?" she asked.

"Right here. One of the few residents actually born in Florida."

"You don't sound like a native Floridian."

"I went to prep school up north and then later to Yale."

I told her the story of why I was booted out of Yale Law and she was mightily amused. "You are a devil," she said, "and I really shouldn't be associating with you."

"Perhaps you shouldn't," I said boldly. "I understand you're soon to be affianced."

She lifted her chin and looked at me coolly. "Maybe," she said, "and maybe not. I haven't yet decided. Do you know Chauncey Smythe-Hersforth?"

"Yes."

"And his mother?"

"I am acquainted with the lady."

"Then surely you know why I am postponing a decision."

I said nothing.

"Meanwhile," she went on, "I am living the way I want to live. I'm an independent cuss. Does my behavior shock you?"

"No, it does not. But it puzzles me."

"You feel I should leap at the chance of marrying Chauncey?"

"You could do much worse. Me, for instance."

"Let me be the judge of that," she said.

"May I ask how old you are, Theo?"

"You may ask but I shan't answer. Older than you think, I'm sure."

"Another personal question you may or may not wish to answer: Is your mother living?"

"Yes. My parents are divorced. My mother has remarried and is presently living in San Diego. And now I have a personal question for you: Do you have a ladyfriend?"

"I do."

"But you're not faithful to her?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

She laughed. "A statement. I do believe you're as selfish as I am."

"Quite possibly," I acknowledged. "Theo, would you care for dessert?"

"Yes," she said decisively, staring at me. "You."

I sought to quell a slight tremor.

She discussed the logistics of our assignation as calmly as if she were making an appointment for a pedicure. Daddy had driven down to Fort Lauderdale that morning. It was a business trip and daddy would be gone all day. And daddy had promised to phone before he started back to Palm Beach so they could make dinner plans.

In addition, both condos adjoining the Johnsons' were unoccupied, the owners having gone north for the summer.

"So you see," Theo concluded, "we'll have all the privacy we could possibly want."

"Yes," I said, tempted to add, "But God will be watching." I didn't, of course, since it verged on blasphemy.

We didn't converse on our return trip to Palm Beach although there were a few occasions when I suspected she was humming. I was simply amazed at her insouciance. She sat upright, smiling straight ahead, shining hair whipping back in the breeze. She looked as if she owned the world, or at least that part of it she coveted.

We arrived at the Johnsons' condo, and I suggested that since the blood-red Miata was such a noticeable vehicle, it might be more discreet if I parked some distance away. But Theo would have none of that, insisted I park at her doorstep, and led the way inside. And instead of inviting me into a bedroom, she rushed to that hideous cretonne-covered couch in the living room and beckoned. I scurried to her side.

She undressed with frantic and unseemly haste, and all I could think of was a cannibal preparing for a feast of a succulent missionary.

I shall not attempt to describe the rapture of that afternoon. It is not that I lack the vocabulary-you know me better than that-but it is because some events in one's life are so private that it is painful to disclose them, even if they are pleasurable.

I can only permit myself to record that Theodosia Johnson was all women. Not all woman but all women. She reduced the plural to the singular, multiplicity to one. After knowing her, there seemed no need for another. She was the Eternal Female, capitalized, and at the moment I was bewitched. Not bothered and bewildered-just bewitched.

There was one intimate detail I am forced to reveal because it has a bearing on what was to follow. Theo had a small tattoo of a blue butterfly on the left of her tanned abdomen, almost in the crease of her thigh. It was, to the best of my recollection, the first time I had ever kissed a butterfly.

I returned home too late for my ocean swim-a mercy since I hadn't the strength-but in time to shower and dress for the family cocktail hour and dinner. My thoughts, needless to say, were awhirl, but I believe I hid my perturbation from my parents. The only discomposing moment came during our preprandial martinis when I eagerly asked my mother, "What did you think of Theo Johnson?"

The mater gave me her sweet smile. "She's not for you, Archy," she said.

It was cataclysm time. "Why on earth not?" I demanded.

Her shrug was tiny. "Just a feeling," she said.

I was subdued at dinner and retired to my quarters as soon as decently possible. I wanted to note the day's adventures in my journal but was unable. I merely sat rigidly, counting the walls (there were four), and tried to solve the riddle of Madam X.

I was still in this semi-catatonic state when Connie Garcia phoned. Her first words-"Hi, honey!"-were an enormous relief since they signified she had not yet learned of my hegira to Mizner Park with Theo Johnson.

"Listen," she went on, "seems to me you gabbled about a dinner date this week. When? Put up or shut up."

"Let me consult my social calendar," I said. "My presence has been requested at so many-"

"Cut the bs," she interrupted. "It's on for tomorrow night at the Pelican Club. I called and Leroy is planning to roast a whole suckling pig. How does that sound?"

"Gruesome," I said. "I am a suckling pig."

"As well I know," Connie said. "Around eight o'clock- okay?"

"Fine," I said. "I'll even change my socks."

I realized, after hanging up, that perhaps an evening with the open, forthright, and completely honest Ms. Garcia was exactly what I needed. After an afternoon spent with the disquieting and inexplicable Ms. Johnson, it would be like popping a tranquilizer. Of course after dinner Connie would expect me to expend some energy in her Lake Worth condo, but that prospect didn't daunt me. I hustled to the medicine cabinet in my bathroom and slid two B-12 sublingual tablets under my tongue.

Wasn't it John Barrymore who said, "So many women, so little time"? If he didn't say it, he should have.