My morning appointment was late. I flipped though the newspaper without looking at it. I had already read it- even the sports page.

The door opened ushering in a gust of cold air. A tall young woman stood there, framed by both doorway and outside world, her darting eyes drinking in the details of the coffee shop.

She was stunning. Her smooth pale skin peeked out from amdist the darkness that enshrouded her from hat to hair to blouse to coat. My first impression was of a white tiger caught by a beam of moonlight. Much of the visible skin was from a generous amount of carefully exposed cleavage that seemed on the verge of becoming indecent. A small glass heart nestled against the swell of one breast. Black slip-on shoes worn without socks completed her outfit. From her jewelry, I pegged her as some kind of new-age spiritualist.

The door slammed behind her as she stepped inside and glided towards me. Stopping at the edge of my table, she looked down at me and said in a crisp voice, “I am Miss Winterhalter.”