Her good looks would have invited leers and cat calls from the UPS drivers and factory workers who collected at the cheap eatery pinned up against the Southern border of General Wainwright Airport facing the working class hamlet of South Center Oaks. But the usal grease monkey's attention was elsewhere.

Like everyone else in Eastern Long Island, they rode a dream...so was the rest of the country: getting rich without working for it.

Only Art, the owner of 'The Last Stand Deli' took notice of us and chuckled when we insisted, "Strictly Business."

"I can't talk you into some high yield investment, " Katie chided with an English accent.

"You know my view," I said, "all these mergers, consolidations and spin- offs...backed up by play money they call junk bonds are like buying an overpriced house and selling the backyard and garage to pay for it."

There was a pause. I looked at my watch. I had to get to court. If I had more time I'd needle her about being English. What was she ? Australian ? In my book there was no difference, just another foreigner skimming the fat off a crazed public in an economy gone amuck.

For all the heady talk and big ideas about a booming economy, that afternoon's session of Center Oak Municipal Court was unusually packed.

The black robes hung like weights on old Judge Dreyder as he peered over a bulbous nose at each file and looked over half circle reading glasses as he waded through irate landlord's complaints and dejected tenant's excuses.

When Ronald Dipper v. Kate DeSantis, my case, was called, Judge Dreyder said quickly, "Defendant is not present. She sent me a note that she expects money soon. There are three children in the unit. Thirty days stay, counselor ? " He asked hopefully.

It was a sad story but for me it was strictly business. Old Judge Dreyder was a good soul who liked to give people second chances and expected patience and a little humanity from everybody.

There was no sense in arguing. Dreyder could simply sit on the paperwork for a month or even longer, if I didn't agree.

When I returned to my office, the secretary reminded me of a contract signing. "Carl Gerek's buying that quarter million dollar house in South Center Oak." Her voice inflected in astonishment. The plans showed a palatial house, but how could anything in the tangled streets of South Center Oak, land of overgrown bungalows be worth that much ?

At 6 p.m., Carl Gerek, a tall, lean, auto worker appeared in my doorway; the broker would not be far behind with the paper. "with the rising price of real estate, this house will pay for itself in a couple of years." Carl assured me as his greasy hands poured over sketches and plans.

This was strictly business. A client bought what he wanted and I saw to it that the paperwork was in order, but $250,000 for a house in South Center Oak ?

As if reading my thoughts, Carl added, "if you have any problems with the idea...just talk to my broker, Katie DeSantis..."

At that Katie, the girl I knew from the deli, filled my doorway, holding contracts in one hand and bottles of expensive champagne in the other.

" There were some questions I had about the plans... and I tried to reach you... Your phone was disconnected," Carl said with surprise.

"Oh," Katie replied with her sparkling accent, "I was off on my yacht in Center Oak Harbor and didn't want to be disturbed."

The papers were signed with great aplomb and Carl Gerek left happily.

She waited till she heard the door slam shut, before she thanked me.

"Strictly business... Judge Dryder will be glad to hear you'll soon pay the back rent."