As Angelo flipped the pancakes on the griddle, he heard the familiar ding of the computer. He had an e-mail message. He quickly smothered the pancakes in syrup, grabbed his plate and chocolate milk, and raced to the desk. Was this the message he had been waiting for? His hand trembled as he reached for the mouse. The little arrow ricocheted across the computer screen several times before it finally hit its mark, the mailbox with its red flag up . He clicked on it.

His heart soared when he saw her name, Mystyrios. She would be in Syracuse, for a brief conference, Friday. She would meet him at his favorite restaurant at 3:00. His whole body glistened with sweat at the very thought of finally meeting her. He sent a reply expressing his elation that they were going to meet and that she would be delighted when she tasted the cuisine at the best barbecue rib joint in Syracuse. She knew the one.

Angelo remembered the first time he made contact with her. It all began innocently enough. ‘Highheels and Stockings’ sounded interesting. Two lonely people entered the same online chatroom, along with twenty others. Angelo was shocked at what was scrolling down the screen. After several minutes he typed in his hunt-and-peck fashion, Are there any females who would like to chat? Send me an instant message. Moments later a short message from Mystyrios appeared. Their online relationship began.

Angelo looked forward to the evenings she promised she would contact him. He would sit at the computer waiting patiently for her instant message to appear. At first they marveled over the technology that allows strangers to correspond so easily. Then they asked all the usual questions, where you grew up, worked, things like that. Over time they gave brief disclosures of the naughtier side of their lives. At least she did. She told him about a family picnic that her boyfriend attended when she was seventeen. She told him how the two of them had gotten it on on the side of the hill just below the picnic tables. How exciting it was knowing that at any moment one of her family could have stood at the top of the hill and caught them. Suddenly, Angelo saw a side of himself he hardly knew existed. He found himself getting excited as he read her words.

This was the kind of woman he wanted. A woman who could let herself go and be honest about it. A woman who enjoyed life and what it had to offer. The kind of woman his domineering mother kept him away from. One time he mentioned Rosalina, a hot barmaid he knew. Mystyrios quickly suggested that he be the drunken customer and she play Rosalina, the hot barmaid. The whole thing was over in minutes and left him breathless. She was eager to tell him other tales and their online encounters soon became more imaginative, more adventurous, more exciting. He found that he could not live without them and longed to meet the faceless woman who aroused such passion in him. He wondered, was this what falling in love felt like.

Angelo scanned a photograph one evening and sent it to her. She was awestruck when she saw it. A handsome, bare chested man with toned muscles, splitting wood with an axe. He wore tight black jeans, work boots and a smile. To her he was an Adonis, practically a god. To even dream that she could become his goddess was foolishness.

Over the next couple of months they discovered they had several things in common besides their love of spicy barbecued food. Neither had, nor wanted, any children or had ever been married. Both were thirty-something, enjoyed blues and traveled in their jobs. Still, she refused to divulge any personal information, like her age or where she lived. Despite what he did or didn’t know about her, they were finally going to meet.

Angelo arrived at that honky-tonk rib joint a little early that Friday afternoon. Rosalina was the barmaid, as he knew she would be. At this time of the day only half of the red vinyl stools which line the oak bar were occupied. The booths along the windows were full, but the tables surrounding the make shift stage were void of people. The voice of B.B.King rang clear and sweet from somewhere among the ceiling banners and you could easily carry on a conversation. But at night it was jumping, the performers always brought the house down. "Ahhh, blues, barbecue, and cold beer on a hot afternoon. What more could a man ask for except the pleasure of the company of a beautiful woman," he said to Rosalina and smiled. He ordered a shot of Jack Daniels with a beer chaser, and wings, extra hot.

Angelo occupied the corner stool of the L-shaped bar, by far the best seat in the joint any time. From this vantage point you could watch the door, see everyone in this side of the restaurant and still be able to marvel at the artwork on the walls, a giant mural of ancient reptilian cartoon figures taking over the city. Seeing it always made him smile, no matter how bad things are going.

At the near end of the bar, next to the Elvis bust, sat a sixtyish man with deep set blue eyes and bottled-brown hair. He wondered if this leathery faced man actually believed the hair color made him look younger. The man next to him hunched over his scotch and water like he was protecting it from a thief. Two young women dressed in business attire and wearing heavy makeup, sauntered in and sat in the booth farthest from the door. After ordering pulled pork sandwiches and light beer on tap, one pulled a sheet of paper from her clipboard and giggled as she showed it to her friend. Angelo turned away from them and finished his last wing.

"Funny thing about the blonde with the big hair," Rosie said quietly. "She’s been coming in every Friday for almost two months now. Always sits where she can see who comes through the door. One day she told me she was waiting to meet her boyfriend. She has a picture of him. She shows it to which ever friend comes in to wait with her. She puts it away when I wait on her. And she always looks, I don’t know, embarrased when I’m around her, like she knows something I don’t." She paused in contemplation. " I guess you could say she’s being mysterious."

"What! What did you say?" He spun slowly on his stool, trying not to look like a moron. "You mean the clown face one with no boobs?"

"Angelo!"

The women looked at him. The blonde’s mouth dropped open. "Relax Mysty," her friend said, "there’s more than one Angelo who lives in this city. It’s not him."

He heard what the friend said. He knew the jig was up. This was going to be one of the hardest things he had done. He slid his five foot four inch, 225 pound body off the stool and approached their booth. "Hi, I’m Angelo. Are you Mystyrios?"

She nodded. "Yes, I’m Mysty. Mysty Rios."

"I guess I’ve got some explaining to do. Can I sit down?" He confessed that he was twenty-seven, unemployed and still lived here in the city with his mother. He apologized for the lewd and suggestive things that went on. And told her he wouldn’t blame her if she never contacted him again.

"You don’t have to apologize. It took both of us to make this situation and I lied too. I’m not a doctor, I’m a beautician. And I’ll bet I can do things that’ll curl your hair." Her naughty laugh helped to break the tension. "What do you say we meet back here tonight? I hear they have another terrific band playing. Oh, and here’s my phone number." She jotted it down across the photo of the Adonis-like man, handing it to Angelo with a smile. "And who knows, this could develope into something hot and spicy."