So I've been bored lately.

Horribly bored.

So bored, in fact, that I've even cleaned the apartment! Buck is the most excitement I get anymore. I've read every book I had on my reading list. I've washed and ironed all the clothes that I never could get to before. I even cleaned the old silver stuff my mother left me in hopes that someday I'd actually need them at my wedding. Yeah. We see that happening, don't we?

So it's a Saturday and I've not got a lot of much to do. So I go into the video store, thinking that if I've read all my books, then why not blow a few hours watching some movie that I've always wanted to see but never had the time for before.

There I was, in the drama section ... because that's where I'd find something thought-provoking or important or something, right?

After a while, I've been up and down all three aisles devoted to dramas. The DVD covers are beginning to run together. And I really haven't found that one movie that speaks to me.

So there I'm standing and inside my head I suddenly wake up to where I am and go, "Jesus Christ. You're standing in front of the 'G' movies. You are a fucking loser."

Not as in Rated G. As in the movies that start with the letter G.

Am I a nerd or what?

My eyes kind of glaze over and I see this wavery scene in front of me.

That's when some bozo comes right up behind me ... close enough I can smell that he's wearing nice cologne ... and reaches a big old arm over my shoulder and starts trying to put a DVD away into the G movies ... and I'm thinking to myself, "You fucking idiot. What? You decided you didn't want that movie after all and you couldn't fucking wait a few fucking minutes until I move my ass out of the way? No, of course not. Because you're oh so important and I'm just a piece of lint standing here so why bother doing anything but being rude and shoving that damned box into the G's and I know where I'd love to tell you to shove that DVD ..."

And the guy says, "They always misfile this movie in the comedies. Pisses me off. It belongs here in the dramas."

He's got a very commanding voice. Only it's kind of a New York-ish voice and seems really out of place here. It's funny because it's commanding but he isn't raising his voice; he's talking really low, almost soft ... like he never meant for anyone but me to hear him speak anyway.

Part way to putting the movie in the middle shelf, his hand kind of hangs before me and I see the title of the movie. It's one of my very favorites. "Get Shorty." Based on a book by one of my favorite zany authors.

I must have taken a breath or made a movement ... something that showed him I was registering the title of the movie. He says ... and his voice is now pretty mellow ... "Ever seen it? It's a really good movie."

"I know! I love it. But it really is more a comedy than a ..." I turn to look at him because I feel some kind of kinship with him. Like somehow on this whole planet, we're about the only people who love that movie and what are the odds we'd both be in that store on the same day at the same time standing there in front of the G drama movies?

But when I see him, I don't believe my eyes. I turn my head to the front and stare straight at the G's. I close my eyes. Shake my head. And wonder if there's any chance that there's a good psychiatrist who's on call that day. Because I think I may need one.

When I finally turn to look at him because I figure I do have to deal with this, he's standing there smiling that almost non-existent smile that seems so jolly on him.

"You're him," I say.

He tilts his head as he leans an elbow into the upper shelf of the rack of G movies, still holding that DVD. He's so smooth. He's so cool. He's so ... so him. He says, "Him who?"

"Chili Palmer. The guy in Get Shorty. The John Travolta character." Because I like know, right? And I'm somehow both shocked and not at all surprised. It's not John Travolta. No way would I meet him. In this magical vortex of odds that brought me into the Pub, of course it wouldn't be anyone so much as it would be a character from a movie I liked a lot that I'd be meeting in the flesh on a dateless Saturday inside my neighborhood video store.

"Now, how would that be possible?" he says. He blinks his eyes and tries to look innocent but on him, it just looks incredibly ... er ... effective.

"Don't play games with me," I say softly. "What are you doing here and what do you want?"

Because I just know ... the odds that a guy like Chili Palmer would not know where he is and that he's someplace new? Not odds you'd want to bet. Of course he knows. And he's already got all the angles figured out.

So he gives me that full-body-once-over-and-again-for-good-measure look of his ... on him, somehow it's part of his charm but I'm still determined to be offended. So I narrow my eyes at him and it makes him laugh.

"I'm here looking for you, Ann. Why else would I be here?"

Man. That silky Chili way of talking. He's a piece of work.

"First off, why me? Second off, how did you get here? Third off, are we about to be overrun with you people?"

"What people?"

"Movie people."

"Yeah, that would be a drag." A pause. A little grin. "Because you really don't like us people showing up in your life, do you? But to answer your question ... I honestly don't know. I know I'm here. I know they're here ... the Crowe gang. Unlike them, however, I am not bringing a posse with me. Why would I? I think I'd prefer having my own place to call my own."

"How'd you get here?"

"I decided I wanted to come check this joint out. Don't roll your eyes like you don't believe me. You know you do. Look at me. I'm here. In the flesh. How you think I got here? Who knows how the other chuckles got here, but me? I decided I wanted to be here and I came over."

"How do you even know about this?"

"I saw you when you came to visit Sid." He puts a finger under my jaw and shuts it. "I never knew this opportunity existed. But once I realized it was here, seemed like it held some promise for a man like me, willing to try something new. You know?"

I look down at my shoes. I always seem to do that, as if the answer to something tough is down there under my instep. "Look. I'm going to turn around and walk out of here. We'll both pretend I never saw you. You go about your life. I'll go about mine. Last thing I need is another character bopping in here and confusing me more."

He puts his hand on my elbow and leans in toward me. "Look at me."

I look up at him. He's got that look on his face. You know the one I mean. The one from the movie. The one that says no one's saying 'no' to him. The one that says 'no' isn't an option. The one that says he's not messing around but that's okay because you never had a choice anyway once he got involved in your life.

"This is where I have decided I'm going to be. And to do that, to really be here, I need to be written about. Otherwise, I don't really exist here. So I came to you because I want you to write about me."

I sigh so hard. "I cannot believe this."

"Now, Ann, you know I'd not come here asking for something if I wasn't prepared to do something for you. That way, we both get something out of it. You help me get into the Pub, I'll help you."

"I don't need any help. There isn't anything you can do for me that ..."

"Look at me." I look at him. He's got that look again. "I can teach you."

I think about that wonderful and telling moment in the film when he teaches the schmuck big name actor played by Danny DeVito, whom Chili nicknames Shorty, about 'the look' and about how he gets the look. How it's all about attitude ... his attitude.

"I don't want to learn how to do that look. Are you crazy? I have my own look anyway." I give him my look.

It doesn't impress him nor does it make him back off one little bit. He acts like I haven't even spoken. "I'm going to take you under my wing and teach you how to be more assertive with men."

"What? I don't need to learn that. I'm plenty assertive with men. Are you crazy?"

"Let's just review, shall we? It's a Saturday. There's a bar full of men you know not too far from here. Some you even like. One you love. Are you there? Are you planning on going there? Are you dating any of them, even the ones unattached and hard up? Most importantly ..." He drops his voice low and I lean in to hear him. "Most important is this ... you know exactly who you want but you're not assertive enough to get him for yourself, are you?"

I swallow hard and look at my feet. "They're just buddies to me. I don't want any of them in any other way."

But you know the thing about Chili Palmer is that no one can really lie to him because he just knows things. Even when you're lying and know he knows you're lying, you don't expect that he understands the lie is there to protect you from ever revealing something much bigger than that lie. Somehow, he knows the much bigger thing and he has no qualms about making sure you know he knows.

"I'm going to help you get the man you want. I'm going to teach you how to be so that whenever that man sees you, he just can't help going 'uhnnn.'" He says it all guttural, almost musical ... like I've reached down inside him and stroked his penis from the inside out. "I'll teach you how to make that man come to you."

I'm looking at him now. It's like he's maybe reading my innermost wishes ... that core part of me that wishes that just for once in my life I'd stop playing nice when it comes to the game of love and that I'd just reach out and take what I want without believing I am never worthy or giving a shit that some other woman wants the same thing I do ... or, as in this case, that the man in question doesn't want me ... he wants her.

So I don't end up renting a video or DVD that afternoon. Instead, I end up in my neighborhood coffee shop with Chili Palmer. We're sitting at a window table and the sunlight skips across the table, which I notice a lot because I keep fidgeting with my spoon until he reaches out smooth as silk and slides it away from me over to his side of the table. And with Chili, you just know he knows you're not about to reach over there to reclaim the spoon. It's like if it's over there by him, it's his now and you'd never take what's his from him.

I'm listening to him tell me about how he wandered around a bit after his movie. How he enjoyed manipulating Hollywood from the etherworld where he found himself. How he just went where he wanted there. But, odd as it sounds, it doesn't really sound like bragging. It just sounds like he's telling me how it is. Like he kind of took over some small part of Hollywood for a while from inside some Internet place where his movie was uploaded.

"How are you going to help me?" I ask him at some point.

"Remember how I taught Shorty 'the look'? Well, there's also 'the other look.' That's the one you use on the opposite sex. There's one for men ... there's one for women. That's one thing I'll teach you."

"I know that look already."

"Yeah? Show me."

"I don't know ... you might decide you want me and I don't want to hurt your feelings but I'm not in the market at the moment."

He gives me that serious smile of his. "I'm not going to fall for you, Ann. So show me the look."

I give him the look. My look. My look that smolders and says, "let's go fuck."

He nods his head; little tiny nods of ... condescension. "We'll work on that."

"You are such an ass. That doesn't need work! That look has never failed me."

"Yeah? And how often have you used it with a man you weren't already sure wanted to get it on with you?"

That shuts me up.

"Besides, Ann, you want more than a quick screw. You want him to realize he has never even known you before if you can look at him that way and make him feel the way he'll feel. You want him to think you're way out of his reach but that you're saying if he works very hard, you may let him convince you otherwise. It's a look that says he'd be lucky to figure out how to make you fall in love with him forever."

"One look can't do that, Chili."

"This look can. When it's combined with the other stuff I'll teach you about men ... and about how to get the man."

"If all I wanted was a man, any man, I could do that already," I say softly.

"You want more than that. I'm going to help you."

"You're full of shit."

 "Look at me."

I look at him and he's giving me the 'don't talk to me like that' look he has down cold. "Okay, the novelty is wearing off real quick, Chili. Look, I'm clearing out of here. It's been nice meeting you but I'm doing just fine on my own and I don't need your help."

"You're doing fine?" he asks me as I rise to go.

I frown down at him. Within his voice, I read the answer he's giving to his own question ... that I'm not doing fine and he can tell. Yeah. You know how pissy that makes me. "I'm doing great. Wonderful. Stupendous."

And just before I leave the table, I get this brilliant put down in my brain and rather than checking myself, I blurt it out: "And now, I suppose you'll disappear because I'm not writing about you so you can't exist here. Adios, Chili."

Yeah. That works, right?

He's right behind me as I'm leaving. He even holds the door open for me. Takes the keys from my hand and escorts me to the passenger side of my car. I would hit him but he's Chili Palmer and I don't think you can hit him. I mean, he's a hit man. I don't think ordinary people can hit hit men ... can they?

So we're driving along and I'm like half wondering why I'm not surprised that he knows the way to my apartment but I guess I'm through being surprised by things like that anymore. He pulls into the lot and slides smoothly into my designated space. I think about this for one second ... so the little turd's been watching me, hasn't he? What is it with me and men watching me without me knowing it? You know, just for once, I'd love for it to be a man watching me because he likes the way I look, or he is way too shy to speak to me but he has a crush on me, or he has the hots for me ... instead, I get the ones who watch me because I can help them get an 'in' with the people in the Pub.

That's when I realize my role in this life. I'm the weak link.

"You know, Chili, I don't know what you think is going to happen between us but if you think you're coming up to my place and we're gonna ..."

"Come on. You go get dressed in something pretty. I'm taking you out to dinner tonight, Ann. We'll continue our conversation."

"We weren't engaged in a conversation. I was trying to get away from you."

"You didn't mean that. You're just being feisty."

"I am not being feisty. I'm being me. I want to be alone."

"That's all gonna change."

So we're up in my apartment and that ratfink Buck takes one look at Chili Palmer and it's like he's suddenly found the mentor he always needed. He doesn't bark that puppy yip; he sniffs Chili's pants cuff and gives a deep, all Alpha dog 'whuff' as he wags his tail. I glare at him but he's only got eyes for Chili.

"You gonna fix me something to drink? I'll have any Scotch you got around. I'm not that particular."

Except when I hand him his Scotch, he sniffs it and tells me the name of a liquor store where they know him ... he says, go there and ask for something that Chili will like; the guy there, he says, he'll fix me right up. I tell him there's no way I'm going to the most expensive liquor store in the city just to buy him a bottle of Scotch.

"You'll do it. You'll be happy to. You'll be grateful that I'm giving you a way to be nice to me. You'll see."

"Oh. Let me guess. I'll be grateful in the morning over eggs and toast? While I'm serving you breakfast in bed?"

He glances at me with a disapproving look just as he sinks down into my couch. I wait on it ... know he's going to say something ... he makes me wait as he adjusts the seam on his nice wool slacks. He picks off a piece of Buck's hair that's found its way there already. Gives Buck the look and I swear the dog probably decides right then and there to never shed again.

Finally Chili glances my way. "We're not going to have sex, Ann. That is not what I meant. I told you. I'm not interested in you that way. You're in love with another man. I don't interfere with things like that. All's I meant is that when I help you get that man interested in you the way you want him interested in you, you're gonna wish you knew something nice to do for me to thank me."

"I'm not in love with anyone. I wish you'd stop saying that."

"Go get dressed. Wear something nice. I want to take you to a place a woman like you should expect to be taken by a gentleman."

So I don't know why I am in my room getting dressed after taking a quick shower. But I am. There's something about Chili Palmer that both rubs me the wrong way and makes me feel ... I don't know what ... maybe that's his charm. You like him even though he should bug the shit out of you. I mean, he does bug the shit out of me and I've only been around him a couple hours. But even still, I'm getting dressed in here and I've got my nicest black dress on because I think it's sophisticated and dressy.

But when I come out from my room and tell him I'm ready, he shakes his head and sighs.

"No, no. That's awful. You can dress better than that, can't you? Maybe I'm beginning to figure out what part of your problem is. I thought you were just dressed down at the video store. Maybe you just got no clue how to dress like the woman you really are."

"What is wrong with how I'm dressed?" I ask him, my voice rising.

"I like women to look nice when they're with me. I like them to look like women ... not old maids. Not when they're with me. It's important to my reputation."

"I look like an old maid? You ass. I cannot believe you'd say that!"

"C'mere." He takes my hand and drags me into my bedroom. He stands me before the full-length mirror. "Look at yourself, Ann. No. Not at me. Look at you. You're a beautiful, well-built lady. Why would you not want to show off your assets? You dress like somebody's aunt."

"I do not!"

"Do you own anything that shows off your figure?" He says this as he pulls the fabric of my top taut ... which instantly seems to make my chest leap out at us. I slap his hands and wiggle away.

"There is such a thing as class, Chili. Good men do not like women who put it right out there like cheap sluts."

"Well, there's where you'd be going wrong, see? There's a difference, Ann. And, frankly, men like it both ways. But there's a right way and a wrong way for a woman like you. Sluts dress cheap. That'd be the wrong way for you. A classy dame showing her wares off to their best advantage? That's the way for you. It's possible to be sex defined and still be tasteful. That's what I prefer. I imagine he does, too." He goes to my closet and starts rooting around. "Let's see what we've got to work with in here."

"What are you doing? Get out of there!"

"A black suede mini skirt? You're holding out on me. Here. This is a good start. And ... hey ... this white sweater is very nice. Cashmere?"

"Yes. Give that to me. You'll get it dirty!"

"It's still got the tag on it. You've never worn it? Yet you bought it at some point so you must have been thinking about dressing a bit more provocatively. What made you chicken out?"

"It was a gift ... from a friend."

"And you never wore it for him?"

"It's not my style."

"I think that's the point. I think maybe you should have gotten the hidden message there, missy. He wanted you to wear something that would please him. Why wouldn't you?"

"It's too ... too sexy for me."

He smiles at me and nods his head. "That's your first breakthrough. See, like a lot of women, you got yourself pegged in this narrow definition of what's kosher for you. You see yourself as a basically attractive woman but without that whatever it is that makes men pant for you. You'd be wrong about that, Ann. You got what it takes; you're just giving out vibes to men that you don't want them noticing it until you give them permission. Only maybe you never do. And then you're disappointed because they don't. So you figure you haven't got it ... sex appeal, I mean ... and you dress in a way guaranteed to make it real obvious to men that you don't think you're sexy."

I stand there looking at him. I can't believe he got that about me. I can't believe I've never seen that about myself. But he is right. And that is a real bummer. Imagine that? Chili Palmer has me pegged already.

"Now some men probably find that bit of innocence and self-doubt quite charming, Ann. Maybe all men do. But at some point, they lose interest in constantly having to build your confidence in yourself. At some point, they want to see you act like the sexual person they know you are. I'm not saying they want you to parade around the Pub dressed like an ad for Frederick's ... maybe Victoria's Secret ... and chances are, that just as soon as you do they're gonna be trying to get you to cover it up because other men will see and try to steal you ... hey, whoever said it was only women who can be hard to figure out?"

That makes me smile. I think about how Bud panted for Marie so visibly but as soon as they really hooked up, he started trying to get her to cover her body up because he didn't like other men looking at her like he'd looked at her when he'd first seen her.

"Okay. If I try this on, you will be honest with me and tell me if it looks horrible on me or if it makes me look fat or if it makes me look like a slut? Chili? I'm serious. Don't make me wear this just to make a point, okay?"

"Cross my heart," he says, going back to my closet and looking inside, telling me to go on and change right there ... that he'll stay and if that doesn't work, he'll find something that does. "Oh, and wear some sheer black nylons with that skirt."

I'm rooting in my dresser and he asks me what I'm doing. I blush, hard. I tell him the truth ... that the same person who gave me that sweater ... and the skirt ... gave me a corset thingee that will do that sweater justice. He chuckles at my use of the term 'corset thingee.' I glare at him as I go into the bathroom to change.

You know what's funny? When I come out, he makes me stand in front of the mirror again. And when he says I look classy and sexy, I believe him. He does amazing things for my confidence. I even wear a pair of sexy pumps that ... that ... that the same man who got me the clothes I am wearing got for me.

Not that he got all these things in one fell swoop, like he was trying to change my wardrobe. But he brought me things ... well, he used to. When he traveled and would come back, first time he'd see me, he'd bring me things. Clothes. Jewelry. Perfume. Lingerie. Flowers. Toys. Nice things. Sophisticated things. Things that would never have occurred to me to buy for myself. I loved that he saw me that way ... as a woman who could enjoy those things. He'd also bring me silly stuff. Joke gifts, crude mementos he'd pick up at the airports he was at, a rock from each new place he'd visit, nasty postcards he'd leave laying around for me to find the next day, plastic novelties he found amusing and wanted me to see. I liked those things even more.

But all that's a thing of the past. He's got a real woman now. He's got no more time for me. Yep, one more man who's found the love of his life and I don't seem to ever be that woman for any man.

So I pass Chili's seal of approval after I put on those pumps ... his delivery of his seal of approval is this sweet peck on the top of my head as I'm standing in front of the mirror feeling incredibly nervous to think about going out in public dressed like this.

He takes me to a really swanky place. I've only been there once before. It was very romantic the first time I went. But tonight, it's a bit overwhelming. I feel like everyone in there is staring at my chest. When I tell Chili this, he leans in toward me, across the table and motions me to lean in toward him. He gives me a smile.

"Some of the men aren't looking at your chest." But before I can feel relieved, he says, "Some are looking at your legs and a lot were looking at your derriere. Men notice a woman like you, Ann. And that's a good thing."

"I'm a professional woman, Chili. I am desirous of men appreciating my mind, not my body ..." I pause and whisper to him, "Why then does that totally thrill me? That they'd be ogling my body?"

"Because there's a time for business and a time for pleasure. Who doesn't want to be ogled every so often? I know I like it just fine when women ogle me."

I giggle at him. He looks so smug as he leans back in his chair while the waiter serves our drinks. "Yeah, but you should be used to getting looks. I bet women cannot help themselves."

He tilts his head at me, lowers his chin in this quick stutter movement. Blinks his eyes. Twice. "Women do like me. You know why? It's because I know how to look at them."

"Yeah, I've noticed you looking at them."

"No you haven't. I wouldn't do that when I'm already with a woman."

"I've seen it. Like the redhead over there? You scoped her out while you were talking to the maitre d."

He grins and then stops. That sudden. "Look around this joint. I want you to point out to me the man in here you find the most attractive. The sexiest. The one that'd make you go weak in the knees if he ever tried to pick you up. Go on. Oh, and I don't count."

I frown at him but inside I'm chuckling. He really is a piece of work. So I look around. I see this man ... he's at the bar and I figure he's waiting on his date to join him. He's dressed in a very nice suit with the perfect tone-on-tone shirt and tie. He's dark, tall, well built. He looks like he's been around the block. He looks like he could rip off that suit and get down and dirty. He's the one I point out to Chili.

"Now the first thing I'm going to teach you is that look you need to know for men. Ready?" I nod. "Look at me. This is all about attitude and body language. What's this look say to you?"

I swear to God I am not making this up. He just looks at me and the sweater I'm wearing is suddenly way too hot. I blush and gulp some water. "I told you I'm not interested in you, Chili," I whisper to him. "Knock if off. Just because I complimented another man, you don't have to go and ..."

His smile comes back. "Now. You try. Show me what you'd want that man over there to know about you just before he's ready to fuck you."

I knew just what he means. It's that moment when you and the man both know that he is not able to back away from you. He just wants you and he's seeing you and he's already feeling himself inside you because he wants you that bad. Isn't that something you wish you could make men know ... that if they're lucky, they may reach that stage with you and if they do, they will look at you and see you this way ... a way few men ever really get the chance to see a woman.

It takes me a few tries. But eventually, I zone out and pretend it's not Chili across from me. I envision someone very different. Someone I'd never have the guts to look at this way in public because I'd be scared he'd think I was ... You know what? My breakthrough came when I couldn't answer myself ... I didn't know why I was really afraid to look at that man that way. I just always had been. And it was worse now ... now that I'd realized what I was really feeling for him.

"That was fantastic." Chili glances over at the bar and nods his head toward the man I'd pointed out earlier. He's still over there, sipping at a glass with amber liquid and ice in it. "Look at him like that. Just look at him and wait for him to notice you. He will. Trust me. Men have a radar for noticing that kind of thing. That's right. Just keep looking."

And I do what he says. Exactly how he says. It is like magic. The guy is at first just looking at the door and then he slowly turns his head, glancing over the room ... until his eyes meet mine. Until he sees me looking at him like that. He gets up from the bar stool like he is going to come over there to me. I glance at Chili. Chili smiles at me and tells me he is proud of me.

But then he turns and looks at the guy. Gives the guy his look ... the look. Guys must have a radar for that, too. Because the guy looks at Chili and stops in his tracks half way to our table. He gives me this shrug before heading back to his seat because he's not going to challenge a man like Chili. But he obviously was intending to come over there and take me up on that look I'd given him.

"Jesus."

"You got power, Ann. Use it."

So he takes me dancing after that. To this smoky jazz joint.I kid him that his creator was well known for his ability to dance. I ask him what he is going to teach me here. He says a woman who learns how to dance the twist better will move better in bed. No, that's really what he says. He says it smug. He also says a woman fucks like she twists. And then he moves me onto the dance floor to a slow sultry jazz tune and whispers in my ear that a woman makes love the way she slow dances. That there's a difference.

Which I think we all know.

After the dance, he escorts me to a little bar table and helps me up onto the stool. When I cross my legs, he tells me that men love when a woman like me does that all nice and smooth like I just did. I give him a crooked grin and wonder why he didn't come into my life a lot sooner because he's making me believe. He excuses himself to go to the gents and says he'll get us drinks on the way back.

While he's gone, I feel ... powerful. Like I could have any man in there I want. So I scope the room out and my eyes meet the eyes of a man who's tall, dark and very dangerous. I give him the look that Chili taught me. I uncross and re-cross my legs.

He turns and says something to the bartender. I lick my lips and wait, knowing something must be about to happen. The bartender hands him a flute that I know holds champagne. Only then does the man turn back to look at me. We neither of us take our eyes off the other the whole time it takes him to come over there to my table.

"A woman like you shouldn't be sitting alone," he says, his voice deep, his smile mysterious, my knees weak.

"Maybe I was just waiting for the right man," I say back, all husky and breathless.

He slides the flute toward me; I take it like it's my due. "Then your lucky day has arrived."

But he smiles boyishly when he says it; like he wants me to realize he knows he was saying something cheesy and didn't really mean it as a cheap come-on but as a retro riposte delivered by a man with the charm to get away with it.

So I smile back. "Well, at least you have good taste in champagne," I tell him.

"And in women," he says, giving a little toast with his glass before sipping from him.

A big hand is suddenly placed on the table between us. It belongs to Chili. We both look up at him. He's looking at the man. Chili kind of adjusts his tie with his other hand. He's wearing the look again. He takes his time with it. I look at the man. He has registered the look. But he's not the kind of man who backs down from the look under normal circumstances. I wonder if they're about to beat the shit out of each other.

But Chili gentles the flute from my fingers; takes a sip of it. Then hands it back to the man and gestures with his head for the guy to clear out of his seat.

"Who do you think you are?" the man asks softly and I can hear a lot of big man in that voice.

"I'm the man who brought this lady in here. I'm telling you to take a hike before I break you in two," Chili tells him ... and there's more self-assured testosterone in that brief remark than is possible to describe. It's not like he's all caveman. Nope. He's way too smooth for that. This is the man who will think nothing of humiliating and inflicting pain on this other man.

The man glances at me and then back at Chili. "I didn't realize she was with someone."

"Sure." Chili says it all pleasant but there's a distinct quality in his voice that says he knows the guy's lying but he'll let him get away with saving face.

The man slips off the stool with an apology to Chili and a lingering glance at me. You know what I'm most impressed by? It's got to take a lot of strength for a man's man like that to react to a confrontation with that kind of style. I rather think more highly of the man than I already did, but then I'd kind of picked him only for his physical attributes. I'm rather pleased with myself for having picked out a man like that who just that quickly has shown me that he's a man of quality as well.

I tell Chili that when he sits down next to me. He smiles at me; it's the biggest smile he's given me since I've known him.

So the next day, I call Chili at his hotel and ask him to take me shopping for some new clothes.

Because I've decided that if I've got a mentor like Chili Palmer, then I'm going to make some changes in myself. Only he doesn't want me to call him my mentor. He says that sounds strange. He says I should call him my associate.

So that's what I'll call him.

My associate Chili Palmer.