Tresses was on the second floor of a renovated warehouse, a bright airy space that smelled of perm fluid and money. A woman with a red crewcut was at the front desk, the name Wanda embroidered in magenta on her pocket. Wanda didn't look like the type who welcomed questions. Then suddenly, all thoughts of questioning were erased from my mind. He had just come up the stairs from the street. I don't know how to describe him. I can tell you that he was tall, and had blond shoulder-length hair, but that wouldn't tell you anything, really. There was a radiance about him, a glow, that produced a feeling of ... well, all I can say is, when he smiled, I knew I would do anything for him—anything. He stood for a moment haloed by the light from the stairwell. Then he turned and went into an inner room. There was a computer in there on the desk, and, on the screen, I could just make out the outline of a flying swan.