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Dwight threw down his pencil in frustration. He was trying to balance the books for his company, but the accounting had simply gotten too complex, even for a small firm with relatively straightforward finances, like Dwight's. He hated to do it, but Dwight decided he should get an accountant and let the accountant help out. He didn't really want to use a service or call some firm that supplies temps probably less capable than himself, but he remembered a woman he had met at a local concert who told Dwight she was an accountant.
Her real name slipped his mind at the moment, although her body did not. She had said her friends called her Fraggles; as Dwight recalled, she was built more like Jessica Rabbit or some buxom animé vixen than a Fraggle.
The bar had been rowdy, he had gone with friends, and somehow he had not been able to make as much of a connection as he would have liked. He did, however, get her phone number, even if he had yet to follow up.
Now, though, he was thinking he might be able to tap into her accounting expertise to help with his immediate need. If everything went well with that, he might even be able to tap into something else to help with some other needs. She had shown every sign of being friendly and that was just what Dwight needed - a friendly accountant with a knockout figure.
The scrap of paper Fraggles wrote her number on was still in Dwight's wallet and he found it easily. Hesitating, trying to decide whether he really wanted to do this or not, Dwight tried to remember some details of how she had looked that evening.

It had just been a small concert at Manny's Smokehouse, featuring Spottiswoode