I grabbed my purse and car keys. I took the elevator down to the lobby of my apartment complex, and ran out to my car. I needed a break from reality. With tears pouring down my face, I sped off, in search of a dark club or pub off to the side somewhere. I didn't need to look long. After a ten minute drive, I stumbled upon a basement pub near the edge of town, with a sign so grimy I couldn't read it. I parked my car, and hopped out.

I adjusted my nylons and straightened my skirt just a little more. Touching my hair once more to make sure it wasn't messed up, I pushed the door of the pub open, and strutted on in. No use in looking like I was miserable. A few male eyes looked me over, but no one approached. I kept my cool, walked over to the bar, and ordered a beer. The bartender slid it across to me, and went to attend another customer. I took a sip, and set it back down, heaving a sigh. I'd had one frustrating day.

I felt eyes staring at my back. I hesitated as someone sat down next to me, and ordered a beer. I glanced to the side, and found it was a young-looking man in dark clothing. He noticed I'd looked at him, and gave me a smile.

"What's a pretty bird like yourself doing in a dank pit like this?" he asked me.

"Doesn't look so dank to me," I answered. "What's it to ya?"

"Nothing," the man said. "Just that you don't normally see respectable looking birds in these parts."

"So I'm a first," I said. "Whoopee."

He chuckled. "What's on your mind?"

"Why should I tell you?"

"Hey, just trying to be friendly," he said. "But it does help to tell someone. Get it off your back."

I sighed. "To begin with, some low life stole some supplies from the office, and I got busted for it. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"So you didn't do it?" he asked.

"Of course not," I said.

"What a bad blow," he said.

"And then-"

"What, there's more?"

"My boyfriend, Tim, decided to drop the bomb on me. He'd found someone else."

"He must have been a real loser," the man said, "to dump a lovely girl like yourself."

"I thought I was in love," I said slowly. "I was positive he would propose any day now."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," I said, drinking more. "You weren't there."

"Hey, no need to get hostile," he said, holding up his hands. I didn't answer. He extended his hand. "The name's Dave Greene. What's yours?"

"Lorelei Pratt," I said.

"That's a lovely name."

"Thanks. May I ask what are you doing here?"

"I'm a regular," he said. "I come in everyday for a pint before I drag myself to home to the missus. I usually have a drinking buddy, but he's on vacation. Luckily I found you instead." He gave me a smirk.

"Glad I could be of service," I said flatly. I looked at him and smiled slightly.

"Ah, there we go," he said. "I like to see birds smile. Doesn't that feel better?"

I smiled a little more. "Yeah, I do feel a little better. Thank you, Mr. Greene."

"Please, call me Dave. May I call you Lorelei?"

"Sure."

"Alright, Lorelei. Your welcome. Now, let's get to know each other. I'll start with a fairly general question--do you have any hobbies?"

"Oh, I practice my cello when I can, and I sometimes write children's stories for my two nieces in America."

"How cute! How old are they?" Dave looked amused.

"Helen's ten, and Christine is seven," I answered. "Do you have any kids, Dave?"

"No. I'm a married man, but no kids - yet. We're working on it."

"Good luck," I said.

"Thanks." There was a short pause.

"Now I've got a question for you," I said. "What line of business are you in?"

"I'm a sound technician at a record studio." He said it slowly, which made me intrigued.

"Really? I would have thought you were into counseling," I said sarcastically. "Where do you work?"

He hesitated, then grinned, and said, "Abbey Road Studios."

"Wow! How'd you get a job like that?"

"Oh, I know a few people," Dave said. "What, you like the Beatles?"

"Who doesn't?" I said. Dave smiled, and we drank a bit more.

"What were you, before you were fired, if you mind my asking?" Dave asked.

"A secretary at a law firm," I answered. "A dull job, really."

"A secretary, you say?" Dave asked. He looked very interested in that bit of trivia.

"Yeah. For Thompson and Hanks, just outside of London. "

He nodded. "Do you type well?"

"Yes."

"Good at around-the-office jobs?"

"That's what secretaries are for," I said. "What is this, a job interview?"

"Maybe..."

"You know of a job?"

"Actually, I think I do," he said.

"With whom?"

"A friend of mine, looking for a personal assistant."

"Oh?" I said.

"A respectable bloke, nothing too down under," Dave said. "Interested?"

"Anything that will put food on the table."

"Let me get your number," Dave said, and pulled out a small notebook from him coat pocket. He handed it to me, and I wrote down my name and number. "Thanks. I'll give you a call sometime this week."

"Thanks, I'll try to see that my pink slip lasts that long. But why do a favor for a stranger you just met?"

"I like you, you've got a nice personality, and I love your smile," Dave said, and watched me grin wide.

"Well, I like your smile, too," I said, and the both of us laughed. I felt good around him, and I was thanking the fates I'd met him, and he had a job opp for me. "Do you normally go around to bars, finding jobs for out-of-work girls?"

"No, this is a special occurrence," he said. A drunken brawl broke out a few feet away, and momentarily, the conversation paused. The friends of the two heated fighters finally got them to stop, and the patrons resumed their lives. "You don't go to bars too often, do you?" Dave scrutinized my uneasy expression.

"Not really," I said. "Is it that easy to tell?"

"No, no," Dave said, "don't worry about it." We clinked glasses, and drank away.