I guided her to the divan, turned off the TV, faced her. She sat quietly, staring at me from the wide eyes. And what eyes they were. Big and dark, a melting, golden brown. Eyes like hot honey, eyes that sizzled. Plus flawless skin, smooth brow and cheeks, lips that looked as if you could get a shock from them. It was a disturbingly familiar face, too, but I couldn't remember where we had met.

I said, ``Do we know each other, Miss?''

``No, I remembered reading about you in the papers and that you lived here, and when it happened all I could think of was --.'' This time she stopped the rush of words herself. ``I'm sorry. Shall I go on?'' She smiled. It was her first smile. But worth waiting for.

``Sure.'' I said. ``But one word at a time, O. K.?'' She was still hugging the stained coat around her, so I said, ``Relax, let me take your things. Would you like a drink, or coffee?''

``No, thanks.'' She stood up, pulled the coat from her shoulders and started to slide it off, then let out a high-pitched scream and I let out a low-pitched, wobbling sound like a muffler blowing out. She was wearing nothing beneath the coat. She jerked the coat back on and squeezed it around her again, but not soon enough. There had been a good second or two during which my muffler had been blowing out, and now I was certain I'd seen her somewhere before.

``I forgot!'' she yelped. ``Oh, do forgive me. I'm sorry!''