The girl was wearing denim cutoffs and a red bikini top, her head tilted to the left slightly, toward the sun. She looked young, in her early twenties, and the way she was lounging, looking so relaxed and content, reminded me of all the afternoons Barbara and I had spent in the park.

I was going to walk away when the woman looked at me and smiled widely and waved. I thought it was cute the way she seemed so spontaneous and comfortable with herself, like a child almost. I smiled, realizing it was probably the first time I'd smiled in days, or even weeks. I also realized that I needed someone else in my life, that I couldn't take being alone anymore.

Without giving it any more thought, I approached the girl, figuring I'd say, Hey, don't I know you from somewhere? I knew it was a lame opening, but it had worked for me several times before, and besides, I wasn't the type of guy who could think of great, spontaneous pickup lines.

But, as it turned out, I didn't have to use any line, because the girl spoke to me first.

"Hi, I'm Rebecca."

She smiled again, and I noticed the silver stud glistening on her tongue. I'd never understood why people pierced their tongues, or any other parts of their bodies other than their earlobes, but I had to admit there was something sexy about it. She also had wide, eager eyes and a friendly smile. I stared at her for a few seconds before I said,

"Oh, I'm David," and we started talking. The conversation wasn't exactly riveting we discussed how great the weather had been so far this spring, and how pretty the lake was but I could tell she liked me.

Then the scruffy guy finished "Moon Shadow" and started "Stairway to Heaven."

"Nobody can play it like Jimmy Page," I said.

"Who?" she asked.

Okay, so there was a generation gap, but there was something intriguing about her, and at least I wasn't thinking about Barbara.

After a few minutes, she invited me to join her on her blanket. I happily accepted, and I tried my best to keep the conversation going.

Every guy has a repertoire of a few stories that he uses in an attempt to woo women, and I was no exception. I told her about the trip Barbara and I had taken to Europe one summer during college, the time a frying pan started an oil fire in my kitchen and I barely got out of my apartment alive, about the boating accident that had killed my parents when I was five, and then I went on my usual rant about how crowded Central Park was getting and how Riverside Park was much hipper. After I was through with my monologue, my mouth dry from talking so much, she told me all about the trauma of her parents' divorce and how she'd moved to California the summer after high school graduation. After living in L.A. for several years, trying to make it as a modern dancer, she moved to New York, and she was currently living on a friend's couch in Brooklyn. Although, as I spoke, she said «wow» and «awesome» at appropriate times, I knew she was barely paying attention. I wasn't offended, though, because I wasn't really listening to her either. I guess we were at that awkward, beginning stage of a relationship when you're too concerned with trying to impress the other person to really care about anything else.

I walked her out of the park, to the subway on Seventy-ninth, and asked her for her phone number. She wrote her number in eyeliner on my forearm, which I thought was cute and sexy. The next night we went out to dinner at the Cajun in Chelsea. Afterward, we went out to a club called Aria, which she obviously frequented, because all of the bouncers and bartenders called her "Becky." We danced for a couple of hours, then went back to my place and had sex. She liked to take control in bed, getting on top and pinning me down hard, and I was also really turned on by the big dragonfly tattoo just above her ass.

Over the next couple of weeks, I didn't obsess about Barbara as much, and I was able to live a normal, functional life again. I couldn't get my job back at the Journal, so I started applying for other jobs, and tried to do some freelance work on the side. Rebecca and I went out sometimes, but most nights she just came over to my place, usually late in the evening or early in the morning, to have sex. Most of my past girlfriends had been conservative in bed, so it was refreshing to be with Rebecca, who loved to bite me and talk dirty. Once in a while, she tied me up to the bedposts and spanked me.

After we'd been seeing each other for about a month, the friend whose couch Rebecca had been crashing on lost her lease, leaving Rebecca with no place to live. Figuring that she and I were practically living together anyway, I suggested she move her things over to my place until she found another apartment. I made it clear to her that I couldn't see us getting seriously involved, and she agreed that we were "just having fun." As long as we both had the same minimal expectations, I figured I had nothing to worry about.

When we'd met, Rebecca was working part-time at a coffee bar in Soho.

She got fired from her job after showing up late three mornings in a row each time, she'd been wasted or had a hangover and slept through the alarm clock so I started lending her money while she tried to find something else. We kept a tab of how much she owed me, but it was only a few hundred dollars, and I didn't really care if she paid me back.

One night, after Rebecca and I had been living together for a few weeks or so, I took her out with me to a party at my friend Keith's, a guy I knew from Syracuse. Keith and my other friends acted weird all night, and I figured they were just jealous because Rebecca was much better looking than their dates. About a week later, after work one night, I went to Ruby Foo's on Broadway to meet Keith and Mike, another friend, for dinner. When I approached the table I was surprised to see Keith and Mike seated with several of my friends, some with their wives and girlfriends. It was June and my birthday was in October, so I knew this wasn't a surprise party.

I joined them at the table and said, smiling, "Hey, what's going on?"

Everyone was friendly, but no one would explain why they were all there.

"Come on, what's this all about?" I asked.

People looked at each other, then turned to Keith for leadership. Keith stared at me for a few seconds, then said, "We're worried about you, man."

"Worried about what?" I said. I had no idea what he was talking about.

"We don't think Rebecca's right for you," he said.

I didn't know what to do, so I smiled. Everybody else remained very serious.

"You gotta be kidding me," I said. "Why isn't she right [for me?"

"We think she's dangerous," Keith said.

I laughed. Rebecca was ditzy, shallow, a little on the wild side, but dangerous?

"Dangerous?" I said.

I looked at my friend Joe, who'd brought his wife, Sharon. Then I turned toward Phil, with his girlfriend, Jane, and looked over at Tom, and Stu, and Mark, and Rob, but no one would crack a smile.

"So what is this," I said, "some kind of intervention?"

"We're doing it for your own good, my brother," Phil said.

Since Phil had gotten a job in the marketing department at Jive Records he had started calling everybody "my brother."

"Look, I'm sorry if you guys didn't hit it off with Rebecca," I said,

"but I really don't think it's any of your business."

"She's psycho," Joe said.

"Psycho?" I said. "How is she psycho?"

"Didn't you hear what she said to me the other night?" Sharon said.

I remembered how at the party Rebecca had had a few too many and had argued with Sharon, calling her "a dumb, ugly bitch."

"So her drinking gets a little out of hand sometimes," I said.

"She said she wanted to slit my throat," Sharon said.

"She didn't mean it," I said. "Come on, you guys have never gotten drunk?"