It had been a long and uneventful flight to Haifa last week. I was representing a medical supply company and was there to demonstrate some new operating room devices. It was dusk as I rode in the taxi to the hotel and as we drove through the city's streets I noticed that most people were rushing to get the errands done. There were no children making happy noises and kicking soccer balls as on my last visit six months ago.

I checked into the hotel and took a room facing the sea. Haifa is a beautiful city with sandy beaches that were now empty of tourists. There were no sailboats on the water. Israel was at war. I mused over the fact that the room clerk had told me I had a choice of rooms as few people wanted to sleep on the seaside of the hotel. That's the direction the missiles from Lebanon and Hezbollah were coming from. But it was quiet now and I had no worries about being bombed.

I showered and shaved, put on a blue, oxford cloth button down shirt and a pair of well creased khakis. Brown leather loafers for my feet and a navy blue blazer. No tie, it was still rather warm. I locked the room and proceeded down to the bar.

It was a long, polished mahogany bar with red velvet cushioned stools and a shiny brass rail for your feet. I ordered a Dewar's and water for a starter and at the same time a double Bushmill’s Black. The scotch to quench my thirst and the Irish for relaxed sipping. There were only a few people in the room and the bar itself was virtually empty. Soft American standards were playing as background and the only other sounds were muffled conversations.

I had just begun to sip when out of the corner of my eye I saw lithe, female form walking toward the bar. She gracefully took a seat a few down from mine and rested her head in her hands, letting out a sigh as if she had had a hard day. There was something familiar about her, I knew her from somewhere. Not from Haifa, I only knew people I worked with there. I couldn't help but stare. Who was she? She must have felt my gaze, turning her head slowly, she looked at me and a tiny smile crossed her lips. Bingo!!!! I recognized her. Amy Kellog, the correspondent from Fox News, in Haifa covering the war. I had seen her on the news just the night before, standing bravely as cannon shells and missiles flew over her head.

She had always been a favorite of mine, a soft beauty that radiated tenderness and understanding and knowledge of what she reported. She always spoke in subdued, almost sensual, tones as she delivered her segments. And now here she was, just a few feet away, the woman I had fantasized over. I felt my body react to her presence, that familiar stirring in the stomach and groin. My heart started beating faster. For once I was in a total dither. I hesitated for a minute, made my decision, and started toward her.

She looked up, unafraid, confident, her beautiful eyes staring directly into mine. "I don't mean to sound corny, but I have to tell you. You are my favorite newswoman, bar none," I managed to get out. I'd never been starstruck, but somehow this Amy Kellog was different. So feminine, so virginal looking. She took my breath away.

She smiled again, in a shy way,