said. "You know each other."

"Not exactly," he said. Jennifer looked at him closely. _Hell is being
in one room with two women_, Owl said. Oliver cleared his throat.
"Where's the computer?"

"Just down the hall." Jennifer led them to another room. "Let me know
if you need anything."

"Well," Oliver said as they were left alone.

"You don't look like a programmer," Jacky said.

"Thank you."

She showed him a box of file cards--the mailing list. "Here is what we
have. It would be nice to be able to print mailing labels, and we need
to keep track of who has contributed."

"Sure," Oliver said. "And probably some other things."

"Yes," she said. "Some of the members are summer people. We need to
know their winter addresses."

"What's winter?"

"Labor Day to the 4th of July," she said.

"The Maine we know and love," Oliver said. "We can keep individual
winter start and end dates for each name, use defaults if we don't have
the information."

"Right," she said. "Ideally, the list would interact with other
programs someday. It has members on it, and people who aren't members
but who are interested. Also, media people. And legislators. Sometimes
we send special mailings. I suppose we'll need some kind of type code."

"O.K.," Oliver said. They discussed requirements and agreed to meet the
following Saturday morning. Jacky left, and Oliver gave a thumbs up
sign to Jennifer who was talking on the phone.

Not a bad little job, he thought, driving back to Portland. He'd been
itching to ask Jacky about Francesca, but something had stopped him. He
wanted to know Jacky better. She was sure of herself and moved
comfortably. Her breasts were invading his consciousness; he found it
hard to think about Francesca at the same time.

That afternoon, he began cutting the dovetails. It took concentration;
hours went by. But when he fit the first two ends together it seemed as
though it had been only a few minutes. "All right!" he said, leaving
the attached pieces on the table.

Verdi came in looking satisfied. The weather was warmer, much better
for prowling. More snow was possible, but the chances were against it.
Oliver put away his long johns for the winter. "Probably too early," he
said to Verdi, "but so what."

The next morning, as he waited for a seat in Becky's, he saw a familiar
figure in a booth. She was facing away from him, but he was fairly sure
it was Francesca when she turned her head. She stood and walked to