"Remember what I said. Start looking like we mean something to each other."
And, before Jeanne-Marie could offer a protest, the man slid his chair around the small table, clutched at Jeanne-Marie's hand with one of his hands and put his other arm around her shoulder. He smiled at her, his face inches from hers, holding a cocktail glass up as if making a toast. He seemed to be relaxed and having fun, but this close Jeanne-Marie could tell his face was set tensely, rigidly, in an easy cocktail smile. When she saw the tension leave, she knew that whoever it was who sought him was gone—at least for now.
"All right," she said coolly. "I've shielded you. Now get out of here."
"I said a thousand dollars, but you haven't earned it yet."
Jeanne-Marie gave him the kind of scathing look which went very well with her new face but which, on Mary-Jean's face, would have been ludicrous. "Do I look as if I need a thousand dollars?" she asked.
"No, but—"
"So if you'll just find yourself another table."
Actually, Jeanne-Marie did not mean those words. Her new face and body were designed to attract adventure. Were they, then, bait for this man? She decided that they were, but the conversation had taken a natural course which she instantly regretted.
"But I can't do that," the man said. "Maybe they caught a glimpse of me here. Not enough to recognize me, but enough to know I belong with the gorgeous dame at such-and-such a table. See what I mean?"