A light touch on my shoulder and lighter words in my ear, "Um, excusez-moi, Monsieur."

I swiveled my head and was near eye-to-eye with blue-eyed BeBe. fyi: She was clothed, though I can't recall the details. I rarely can with women. Instead, I'm typically left with an overall impression. In this case I hold an allusion to something light and loose, an indigo vapour, translucent. If one were to represent BeBe geometrically, she'd appear as a 'strange attractor'. Google that, you'll see what I mean.

I gulped down my mouthful of fish, then couldn't manage anything more clever than a, "Huh?" Well played, Slick.

She said, "You are alone, no? May I seat?"

I quickly pushed out of my chair, sent it tumbling backwards. I fumbled for my napkin from the floor and as I righted the chair I blurted, "Yeah, yes, please do. Here," I scurried round Bebe and pulled the other chair out from the... our table, "please seat, sit!" Let's blame it on the rum punch, okay? I'm usually a smooth operator; I've seen the movies, new and old.

"Merci, you are trés gentile, Monsieur." She plopped her shoulder bag under the table, sat, tucked honey-blonde hair behind her left ear, angled her head to fix me with smiling eyes, repeated, "Merci," as I scooted her chair back to the table.

I re-seated myself without tripping, or knocking over anything.

When I settled in and looked in the direction of where sunset had occurred, I was struck by natural beauty once again. This time by an exceptionally attractive young woman with a makeup-free, sun-kissed face, a shade removed from café-au-lait. And those eyes.

My heart stuttered. I willed it chill.

I said, carefully, "This is a pleasant surprise. I'm Steve. It's so nice to meet you." I held up an index finger, asked, "Please, let me try something?" I raised slightly from my chair and held my hand across the table, recited the extent of my French, "Enchanter, Madamoiselle. Comment vous appelez-vous?"

She smiled, took my proffered hand and replied, "Trés bien, Steve. I am BeBe. I am pleased to meet you."

The accent was a killer. The touch of her hand was soft, cool, and dry.

I asked, "Can you hangout awhile? Have something to eat, or drink?"

She gave a little shrug, formed a darling moue with her moist lips, said, "Um, malheureusement, Steve, I have no monee with me."

"Hey, no worries, they'll stick it on my bill." I spread out my hands. "Order whatever you like."

She did. And she did hangout awhile. And she had an appetite. I love that in a woman.

I won't relate our entire conversation; remember, this story is not about BeBe. In any case, I can't recall most of it... the rum punch, no doubt; and they kept coming. But overall, I know I enjoyed it immensely. As I grew more accustomed to BeBe's endearing accent and her captivating beauty, I was able to better appreciate her enthralling personality.

I trust we can all agree at this point that as far as dream girls are concerned, BeBe had all the bare essentials pretty well covered.

So, let's cut to The Chase.