***

When I awoke, she was sitting cross-legged on the floor in her newest Rudi Geinrich special--a translucent hefty bag with a hole cut in the top for her neck. "Ah, mon vieux, tu t'es leve." She laughed and threw back her pretty head. The maid brought it back to her. "And now I shall read to you. Chloe," she called, ringing a dainty cow-bell, "le livre!" "Wit' bacon and onions?" Chloe asked liltingly as she stomped out her stogie with the toe of her Converse. Cheryl laughed and threw back her head once more; Chloe double-dribbled it across the room, faked to me, made a lay-up and returned to Cheryl on the rebound. "I oughta wring your neck!" my delighted hostess cried. "I've always relied on da kindness of stranglers," Chloe riposted. "I'll go getcha yer livre."

As Cheryl waited she pulled her atomizer and liberally applied the vapor to her atmosphere. "Eau du gorille," she smiled. "Gotta keep myself natural." Chloe arrived presently with the book and Cheryl grabbed it, digits atremble. She beamed ably, "Blue Skies, No Candy." She looked up at her chained Kong. "Heavy, huh? Oh bummer, I lost my place. Here we are. Chapter One. 'Am I rushing things...beginning the scene in bed? I cannot resist. Bed is where I'm making it these days, friends, and sometimes it seems I'm only limping along elsewhere. Of course no one would ever suspect. On paper my life is beautiful, meaningful, creative, posh. Sensitive devoted husband, perhaps slightly less anxious about my success but it scarcely shows. House and Garden real estate, overlooking Central Park and on the dunes in the fiercely stylish Hamptons. Booming career. I am a screenwriter. I am the screenwriter, Katharine Wallis Alexander. Not too many hassles these days. They are talking Redford, Fonda, Coppola and $150,000 with a very nice percentage for my next script. Everyone is thinking Woman this year and I am The Woman to write it. I looked thin and not a day over thirty-two at the Zanuck-Brown party in Women's Wear two weeks ago...'"

I could feel the room twirling like a dreydl. The spinach knish I had for lunch started coming up my gullet and I thought I would be sick. "Please stop...please...I'll do anything..." My wrists felt like wet won-tons. She was merciless.

"'Donald Brooks wants to dress me wholesale. Elaine never denies me a table...'" I passed out.

***

I nodded into consciousness. She was still reading. Her voice issued the following dialogue:

(He hands me a crystal of brown sugar from the breakfast tray.)

"Put this in your pussy and see if you can produce a pearl."

"Jamie. If I put that in my pussy all I could produce would be a mackerel."

"Kate. Bite your tongue." He hugs me studying our embrace in the bathroom mirror. "I could never leave you. You're so funny."

I passed out again.

***

The fifth day.

"'Stop screaming.'