“Whatever. Which room is he in?” “I don’t actually know,” she replied. I reached for the telephone, called the front desk and asked for Trev...r’s room. He answered on the second ring. “Dude, what room are you in?” I asked. “502,” he replied, “why, what’s up?” “Cheryl wanted to know. See you in the morning.” I hung up the phone with no further explanation. Cheryl was blushing big-time, not at all happy that I had made the call. I smiled at her. “502, right across from the elevators, I do. When we went back to their room, they wanted to be incontrol. It was boring, and eventually I stopped trying, Amy christeningme an Old Maid, and telling me to get over it.Still, years pass and memories fade, and after University I threw myselfin to work, at a stockbrokers in Canary Wharf. The atmosphere wasboisterous and competitive, and I thrived in it, loving the bawdyconversations and the winner takes all attitude. That I was one of the fewfemales on the floor only made me love it more, and. More

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