Wityh a sultry chuckle, she leans forward conspirationally. After a careful sideglance, she deftly flicks a hand down the front of her dress and pulls up -- visible for ony a moment -- an item that really is more of a beartrap than a mousetrap. When she replaces it, it is as invisible as before, not even a wrinkle in her painted-on attire. "Mousetraps," she says, leaning back in her stool and taking a sip of scotch.