l Tom Blacker remembered, until he woke up in Livia Cord's
cozy two-room apartment. He moved his head and winced with the pain.

* * * * *

"Hi," the girl said.

She was smiling down at him, and for a moment, her floating face
reminded Tom of the episode which had just cost him twenty grand a year.
He groaned, and rolled the other way on the contour couch.

"Hair of the dog?" she said. There was a gleaming cannister in her hand.

"No, thanks." He sat up, rubbing the stiff red hair on the back of his
head. One eye seemed permanently screwed shut, but the other managed to
take in his surroundings. It explored the girl first, and
appreciatively.

She was wearing something black and satiny, cut in the newest
Dallas-approved style, with long, tantalizing diagonal slashes across
the breast and hips. Her hair was strikingly two-toned, black and
blonde. Her teeth were a blinding white, and had been filed to canine
sharpness.

"My name's Livia," the girl said pleasantly. "Livia Cord. I hope you
don't mind what I did."

"And what was that?" Tom's other eye popped open, almost audibly.

"Bailing you out of jail. Seems you got into a fracas with a mounted
cop. I think you tried to punch his horse."

"Nuts. I was trying to hit him."

"Well, you didn't." She chuckled, and poured herself a drink. "You've
had quite a day, Mr. Blacker."

"You said it." There was a taste in his mouth like cigar ashes. He tried
to stand up, but the weight on his head kept him where he was. "You
wouldn't have an oxygen pill around?"

"Sure." She left with a toss of her skirt and a revelation of silky
calves. When she returned with the tablet and water, he took it
gratefully. After a few minutes, he felt better enough to ask:

"Why?"

"What's that?"

"Why'd you bail me out? I don't know you. Or do I?"

She laughed. "No. Not yet you don't. But I know you, Mr. Blacker. By
reputation, at any rate. You see--" She sat next to him on the couch,
and Tom was feeling well enough to tingle at her nearness. "We're in the
same line of work, you and I."

"Unemployment?"

"No," she smiled. "Public relations. Only I'm on the client's side of
the fence. I work for an organization called Homelovers, Incorporated.
Ever hear of them?"

Tom shook his head.

"Maybe you should. It's a rather important company, and growing. And
they're always on the lookout for superior talent."

* * * * *