"Retreat" -- that's Step No. 3, so I hold off responding to an evening e-mail until late the next morning. I say I have to start charging for any more new business advice, and I give her my Internet consulting fees. I too offer discounts for longer periods of time, but I've yet to stop the hourly work and make a minimum two-day rate. Not a bad idea perhaps.

With time to think I remember my favorite episode of "Star Trek: TNG," called "The Perfect Mate" (Production No. 221, 04/27/92, Stardate 45761.3 -- check out the preview). You see, Anne Marie is quite possibly the first empathic metamorph to visit Earth.

Here's the description of an empathic metamorph: "After being bumped by the Ferengi, the cocoon-like structure that houses the gift dissolves, revealing an exotic and beautiful woman. The woman, Kamala, explains that she is an empathic metamorph, a rare creature born with the ability to sense what her mate desires and become what he wants her to be. From birth, she has been raised to be a gift to Alrik, whom she will imprint herself to as a token of peace. However, since her seal was broken prematurely, she is in a vulnerable state, sending out powerful sexual signals to every man she comes in contact with."

Maybe Anne Marie's a real Kamala? As one of my friends on the mailing list responds to my first letter: "Nice story Caleb. Unfortunately, she's definitely an alien. She's here on Earth to begin the takeover ..."

Suddenly I sell my letter to Salon. Now I can call Anne with relish. Ha! I'm the one who's going to end up getting paid. Of course my new automatic bill payment system broke and my landline was disconnected when she tried to call back. Ironic? Painful? Makes me look like a loser? Yes, but we finally get in touch on my cell. We talk for an hour and a half during which I force down the desperate man inside me and whip out my trusty reporter hat.

I ask her if she is in fact an alien empathic metamorph hatched too early!? And can we get any pictures? Can I tell the Salon readers that her new domain will be brainyblonde.com and that a famous geek will be in the first picture when she launches? "Sure, and that's the first mention of it," she says. An exclusive!

We talk more, surfing sites we like together, discussing Woody Allen's short story "The Whore of Mensa," geisha girls, why IE 5 won't let her cut-and-paste out of Hushmail and whether or not Netscape is still a better browser in some ways.

Near the end of the call, I take a deep breath and ask her if she would go on a date with me if I asked her? Even though the allure has paled a bit next to the excitement of getting published, and she is two inches taller than me, and I always thought of myself with a dark-haired woman ... and it's a long drive to L.A. just for dinner. Besides, I'm out of shape and I think I'd feel embarrassed -- like a lot of geeks, I can run risky meatspace things through my head until a faulty value comes out that suggests there's no need to actually do them.

But I ask her to lunch to celebrate the story being published.

Should I keep the audience in suspense? Nah. She said she would be glad to, she hasn't been out on a real date since her site first went up.

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