The place was crowded with weary travelers and the band was too loud. 

Two men in suits tried her first, but she would not even look up from her paperback. They went back to their table and sat down. 

The man sitting next to me, who looked to be in his late 20s, had been watching her during a couple of martinis, both of which he had insisted come with two olives. 

He made his first move. 

"See the blonde behind you, the one reading the book?" he said to the bartender. "What's she drinking?" 

"Whiskey sour," said the bartender. 

"Send her one on me," said the man. 

The girl didn't acknowledge receipt of the drink when it arrived in front of her. She simply pushed her old glass away, took a sip from the new one and went back to the paperback. 

The man ordered another two-olive martini and waited. 

The band rocked on. My ears ached. 

Maybe 20 minutes passed, and the man sitting next to me hailed the bartender again. 

"Send the lady another whiskey sour," he said. 

I wondered why more bartenders didn't write books. They see and hear so much. 

Again the girl didn't look up to see who her benefactor might be. 

If it had been me, I would have quit right there, but I was never any good in bars in the first place. 

I tried, Lord knows, but I came to the conclusion that many women go to bars alone simply for the opportunity to intimidate men. 

I heard "Buzz off, Creep" a few times, which killed my confidence, and without his confidence, a man is no match for a woman in a dimly-lit arena. 

The band announced a slow song. 

They guy sitting next to me was off his barstool in a heartbeat. He went directly to the girl reading the book and asked her to dance. 

They danced closely, and when the music ended they returned to the bar and he sat down beside her and ordered still another whiskey sour and they seemed to be getting along famously. After a few moments, she excused herself and walked out of the room. The man sat there as if he was expecting her to return. I figured her for a quick trip to the ladies room. 

The man waited and he waited, but she never came back. Finally he summoned his tab. As he walked past me, he muttered something about the entire female gender. 

I watched as the whiskey sour lover disappeared out the door and headed back to his room. Probably to call his wife.