Donna sat alone at the bar toying with the olive in her second martini. Her pale blue eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, accented by dark under-eye smudges- the remnants of last night's mascara. "Creep! Creep! Creep!" Each word was uttered more emphatically than the one before. Her voice had always been breathy, but now there were little gasps between every word.

Her shoulder-length hair, normally worn in a stylish French twist, fell over her eyes like a shaggy blond veil as she stared into the half-empty glass. Rummaging around in her purse, she found a rubber band and listlessly pulled the offending strands into a limp, lopsided pony tail.

She drained her glass and was about to pick up her purse and leave when the bartender appeared with another martini.

"I'm afraid you've made a mistake," she said apologetically. I didn't order another drink."

The bartender nodded in the direction of a busty, brassy redhead. "It's from the lady at the end of the bar."

Donna looked up and saw the woman walking toward her. She was tall and attractive; dressed in a pair of high-heeled boots, black jeans and a white sweater that hugged her curves and revealed more than a little cleavage.

"You look like you could use another drink. Mind if I join you?" the woman asked.

"Sure," Donna said, as the woman slid onto the adjoining stool. "I could use some company."

"Want to talk about it? By the way, my name is Carol, what's yours?"

"Donna." The one word response was all she got out before her bottom lip began to tremble. "I just broke up with my boyfriend" she said haltingly. "Turns out, he was married."

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry," Carol said with a soft southern drawl. How long were ya'll together?"

"Six months," Donna said with a heavy sigh. "I met him online. His profile said he was widowed and lonely. How could he lie about a thing like that?" Her eyes welled up again as she tossed down the rest of her drink, olive and all. "He seemed so sincere."

"He seemed so sincere," mimicked Carol, as she motioned for the eavesdropping bartender to bring another round, "We should make that the single woman's mantra. Of course he seemed sincere. Online Casanovas have honed feigned sincerity to an art form. The flowery compliments, the clever email repartee, the romantic text messages- they're all coldly calculated to have the desired effect. They send them out by the dozens. It's all a big game. That's why they call them players."

Donna choked back a sob. "But Robert said he loved me. He said I was unique- that he had never met anyone like me."

"And let me guess what he said next," Carol interjected. "No woman has ever made me feel like this."

A wide-eyed look crept over Donna's face. "Yes, that's exactly what he said. How did you know?"

"Oh please, don't tell me you fell for that one. It's the oldest line in the womanizer's playbook. How gullible can you get?"

"I'm not gullible," Donna protested. "I know he had feelings for me. I could tell by the way he kissed me."

Carol nodded. "Oh sure, he had feelings for you...the problem is, all of them originated below the waist."

"But he said I was special- unique and special," Donna said defiantly.

"Wise up, sweetie." Carol's tone became softer. "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but for men like Robert, all you need are tits and an ass to qualify to be on their unique and special list. They're like hunters. When singling out their prey they give their undivided attention, but once it's bagged, it's all about scanning the herd for the next one. It's the thrill of the chase that gets them off. For them, wanting and fantasizing are way more exciting than actually having."

Donna took a deep breath. "So you think all those guys on the internet are like that?"

Carol leaned forward to emphasize what she was about to say. "Not all of them, but a girl has to be careful. There are more players on those singles sites than you think.

"But how can you tell who's a player and who's not?"

Watch for the ones who are logged on every day for hours at a time. For the players, it's an obsessive hobby- clicking through page after page of profiles, day after day, week after week, year after year."

Donna shook her head in disbelief. "Year after year? Don't they eventually find someone?"

"Not the players," Carol retorted. "Don't you get it? They don't want to find someone. They can't resist the heady combination of variety, novelty and availability; all those tantalizing possibilities promised by the scores of nameless women whose faces smile out at them from the computer screen. They can't bring themselves to settle for just one."

"But doesn't the whole thing get old after a while?"

"Are you kidding? The pictures and profiles provide endless fodder for erotic fantasies. What would she look like naked? How would she be in bed; shy and submissive, dominant and aggressive, adventurous and gymnastic? Hell, these guys get all aroused just thinking about it."

"You're kidding," Donna said in disbelief. "You're telling me that as we speak, there could be some horny, old pervert out there looking at my profile pictures and..."

"You got it" Carol interrupted.

"Ewww, gross! You're just saying that to creep me out."

"Wanna bet?"

Donna seemed genuinely puzzled. "Why not just find a real woman?"

"Because..." Carol paused to take another sip of her martini. "Real women can't live up to the fantasies. Even wizened old geezers with pendulous beer guts and prostates the size of baked potatoes are fantasizing about Barbie Doll types. When push comes to shove and they actually meet the flesh-and-blood woman behind the profile photo, they're disappointed. She's not perfect. Her ass is too big, her tits are too small, she's too skinny, she's too old. You name it. Of course, unless she's a real dog, they'll probably try to sleep with her, but after that, there's always some excuse to go back to the hunt."

"Geez. You make men sound like real jerks."

Carol thought for a minute. "Not all men, sweetie, but definitely the players. They treat women like disposable lighters.

"Disposable lighters?"

"You know...use them for a while and then throw them away."

"But I must have meant more to Richard than that," Donna said plaintively. "Look, he bought me this beautiful diamond bracelet." She pulled up the sleeve of her red silk blouse to reveal a sparkling tennis bracelet.

"Cubic Zirconium," Carol sighed, shaking her head. He probably buys them in bulk at Wal-Mart."

"But he was such a passionate lover," Donna sighed.

Carol gave her a dismissive look and continued. "Believe me, when it comes to lovemaking, the players' moves are more carefully choreographed than a ballet dancer's- the smoldering looks, the tenderly whispered endearments, the seductive come-ons that half-dare and half-beg you to sleep with them. They're passionate, patient and practiced. They know all the buttons to push; all those tantalizing touches and caresses less accomplished lovers never quite seem to master. They'll make it seem like it's all about you, and it is for a while. But in the end it's really about them and their insatiable need for female admiration."

Donna looked at Carol and smiled. "Sounds like you've been burned, too."

"That I have, honey. That I have. It took me a couple of heartbreaks to figure out the rules of the game."

"The game?"

"Yeah, let me explain how it's played, Donna said, as she fingered the gaudy earrings that dangled from her ear lobes like miniature chandeliers. It's like football, there are four quarters. Quarter one is the pursuit; quarter two, the conquest; quarter three, winding down and disengaging; and quarter four, bolting and moving on to the next pursuit. Some quarters are longer than others, but the pattern is always the same. By the way, quarter one is definitely the most enjoyable. Men are never more charming than when they're in full pursuit; the flowers, the candlelight dinners, the romantic getaways. Too bad it doesn't last. Once you sleep with them, it's all over. Before the roses have time to wilt, they're already thinking about how and when to tell you it's over."

Tears began to dissolve what was left of Donna's mascara. She picked up her napkin and dabbed at the sooty rivulets running down her cheeks. Carol reached over and gently patted her hand. "Your mistake was letting him get to you, honey. If you can manage not to fall for them, players can be just what the doctor ordered for a weekend fling or a romantic affair. You just have to be prepared for that fourth quarter; the inevitable end of the game."

"It all sounds so cold and callous." Donna moaned. "Use and be used. What about love, or at least affection? Where do feelings come in?"

"Grow up, girlfriend. If you can't beat them, join them. That's what I do. I let them wine, dine and romance me, but I don't let myself get emotionally involved. A couple of weeks ago I went to the Bahamas with this guy, Ted. He's a wealthy lawyer with an ego as big as all outdoors. He spent the whole trip talking about how rich and important he was and how is ex-wives didn't understand him. But the islands were beautiful, his boat was incredible and it was fun to pretend I belonged on a fancy yacht sipping champagne. When we got back he said he would call, but I knew he wouldn't."

"And you're okay with that?" Donna asked incredulously. "Doesn't it leave you feeling kind of used and empty?"

"Sure it does," Carol mused, not hiding the echo of sadness. "But I try not to let it bother me. Like the song says, every form of refuge has its price."

"I think it bothers you more than you're willing to admit." Donna observed.

A long moment passed before Carol replied. "I guess it must or I wouldn't be here drowning my sorrows. No woman wants to feel like she's little more than the 'screw du jour', but sometimes even that seems better than another night alone." She lowered her voice, giving the nosy bartender a withering stare that made him duck his head and pretend to be busily drying glasses.

They were still deep in conversation when a tall, well-dressed man walked into the bar and struck up a conversation with the bartender. He sat down, ordered his drink and began blatantly ogling Carol's cleavage.

"He's one of the regulars," Carol advised, "A real lounge lizard. He slips his wedding ring into his pocket when he comes in the door. Last week he was hitting on a tipsy brunette. By the time he finished buying her drinks, she was so drunk she practically fell off the bar stool into his lap. You could tell by the way he winked at the bartender when they left together that he figured he was about to get lucky."

"You have to admit, he is handsome," Donna observed, "But every time I see a guy like that I remember something my mother used to say when I was a kid. 'Don't pick that up, you don't know where it's been.'"

"Don't look now," Carol whispered. "He's headed this way. Let's have some fun with him." She leaned over and whispered in Donna's ear.

Donna nodded and smiled.

As the man confidently sauntered up, he flashed a disarming smile and motioned to the bartender. "Bartender, another round of drinks for the two most beautiful women in the place." He was impeccably groomed right down to the shine on his obviously expensive shoes. "My name is Bill, what's yours?"

Carol leaned over, giggled and whispered to Donna, "Great cologne, too bad he decided to marinate in it."

Donna was the first to reply, "My name is Donna and this is my friend Carol. I'm afraid she's had a little too much to drink."

Carol leaned forward with a flirtatious smile, revealing even more of her ample cleavage. "My friend Donna and I were just talking about you. I hope you don't mind my saying so, but you are one sexy looking man," she said, reaching out to put her hand on Bill's arm.

"Well, Bill said, oozing charm, "You are one sexy looking woman, so that gives us something in common."

"I have to apologize for Carol," Donna said, "You probably shouldn't have asked the bartender to bring her another drink. She gets a little over-friendly when she's drunk. Another drink or two and you'll probably have to fight her off."

"Nonsense," Bill said as he slyly slipped his arm around Carol's shoulder. "There's no such thing as over-friendly."

"Damn right!" slurred Carol, running her finger up and down Bill's thigh. "I think the two of us should get even friendlier."

"Carol," Donna admonished. "You're drunk. Remember what happened last time."

Looking annoyed, Carol draped her arms around Bill's neck and said, "Donna's the fun police. Just ignore her. Why don't you and I go someplace where we can be alone?"

"I know a little hotel just down the road," Bill replied, practically salivating as Carol leaned over to nuzzle his cheek. "Not that I've ever been there before, but I hear it's nice."

"How about right here?" Carol said. "The bar is empty. Let's slip into the ladies room."

"The ladies room?" Bill queried, looking a little uneasy.

"Sure," Carol said in her most seductive tone of voice. "Donna will stand guard for us and make sure no one comes in, won't you Donna?"

Looking resigned, Donna said, "I guess, but don't stay in there all night."

"Oh, we won't be long," Carol said as she stumbled into Bill's waiting arms."

The two of them had only been in the ladies room a few minutes when the door burst open and Carol dashed out with Bill's pants in hand.

"Let's go!" she said as she tossed a 20-dollar bill on the bar for the bartender.

By the time they reached the street, both were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

When the fits of laughter subsided, Carol said. "You should have seen him standing there in his underwear. The look on his face when I bolted with his pants was priceless! He's going to have some serious explaining to do when he gets home. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling much better already."

"Me too," Donna replied. "I haven't laughed like this in ages."

Carol paused to catch her breath. "I think we should do this more often."

"What? Meet for drinks?"

"Not just meet for drinks. Let's meet for drinks and to teach the low-life Lotharios of the world a lesson. We can think of it as providing a much-needed service to fellow women."

A smile tickled Donna's lips. "Sounds like a plan. Same time next week?"

"Absolutely."