It had been a rough year, and after Christmas, I wasn’t looking forward to my birthday. But when the cream-colored envelope fell out of the stack of mail I was carrying and onto the floor, things started to pick up. The handwriting looked vaguely familiar, and I smelled a trace of jasmine perfume on the enclosed card. I’d be damned — Jasmine! We’d spent a few memorable nights together, but I hadn’t heard from her for fifteen years.

The handwritten invitation read, “Sam, join me for an evening of sensual delights on the eighteenth. After all these years, I still haven’t forgotten you, dear heart.” This was one invitation I decided not to ignore.

At six o’clock on the night of my birthday, my clothes were color-coordinated (one of the few times in my life), and it... Read More