House.

"Fede," he said, stiffly, "This is Linda. Linda, this is Fede."

Fede stood and treated Linda to his big, suave grin. Fede might be short and he
might have paranoid delusions, but he was trim and well groomed, with the sort
of finicky moustache that looked like a rotting caterpillar if you didn't trim
it every morning. He liked to work out, and had a tight waist and a gut you
could bounce a quarter off of, and liked to wear tight shirts that showed off
his overall fitness, made him stand out among the spongy mouse-potatoes of the
corporate world. Art had never given it much thought, but now, standing with
Fede and Linda in his tiny office, breathing in Fede's Lilac Vegetal and Linda's
new-car-smell shampoo, he felt paunchy and sloppy.

"Ah," Fede said, taking her hand. "The one you hit with your car. It's a
pleasure. You seem to be recovering nicely, too."

Linda smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek, a few strands of her bobbed hair
sticking to his moustache like cobwebs as she pulled away.

"It was just a love tap," she said. "I'll be fine."

"Fede's from New York," Art said. "We colonials like to stick together around
the office. And Linda's from Los Angeles."

"Aren't there any, you know, British people in London?" Linda said, wrinkling
her nose.

"There's Tonaishah," Art said weakly.

"Who?" Fede said.

"The receptionist," Linda said. "Not a very nice person."

"With the eyes?" Fede said, wriggling his fingers around his temples to indicate
elaborate eye makeup.

"That's her," Linda said.

"Nasty piece of work," Fede said. "Never trusted her."

"*You're* not another UE person, are you?" Linda said, sizing Fede up and giving
Art a playful elbow in the ribs.

"Who, me? Nah. I'm a management consultant. I work in Chelsea mostly, but when I
come slumming in Piccadilly, I like to comandeer Art's office. He's not bad, for
a UE-geek."

"Not bad at all," Linda said, slipping an arm around Art's waist, wrapping her
fingers around the waistband of his trousers. "Did you need to grab your jacket,
honey?"

Art's jacket was hanging on the back of his office door, and to get at it, he
had to crush himself against Linda and maneuver the door shut. He felt her
breasts soft on his chest, felt her breath tickle his ear, and forgot all about
their argument in the corridor.

"All right," Art said, hooking his jacket over his shoulder with a finger,
feeling flushed and fluttery. "OK, let's go."

"Lovel