cunt? What’s whore?”
Peggy Jean unfastened the seatbelt she had just fastened and turned around to face her boys. She pointed a finger at her youngest. “Those are the words of the Devil. You must never, ever say those words again, or even think them. God will be very angry with you if you do.” Then, calmer, she said, “Another thing, the next time we encounter one of The Homeless, we will not look at him, we will just mind our own business and pretend he doesn’t exist. Is that clear?”
The boys nodded.
“Good. From now on, we can’t see The Homeless.”
Then she turned around, fastened her seatbelt, and stared straight ahead out the windshield. As the car moved out of the parking lot and onto the street, Peggy Jean tried to put the image of the screaming man out of her mind by thinking of a field of poppies. She allowed her mind to zoom in on a drop of dew that graced one of the gentle petals.
As he steered the car, John wondered if Nikki trimmed and shaped her pubic hair. He decided that she did, and that she left just a small little patch at the top. Probably a little triangle.
B
ebe’s Dazzling Diamonelle show on Sunday night was, as always, a hit. Historically, Bebe’s weekly ten to twelve P.M. show earned the highest ratings of the week. In fact, the only other programs that could challenge the ratings of this Sunday night show were also hosted by Bebe. But as “on” as Bebe always seemed to be, this Sunday night she was even better than usual. Within the course of two hours, nearly every product sold out; almost one and a half million dollars in inventory was moved, making every single minute Bebe was on air laughing, talking about giving Pepper a flea bath, or wishing out loud that her thighs would stop screaming for “more ice cream!” worth over eight thousand dollars.
What Sellevision management and the millions of viewers watching at home could have no way of knowing was that if Bebe was in fact having an exceptionally great night, the reason was due largely to a man who had never even heard of Sellevision. A man who had never met Bebe in person and was named Michael Klein, though he preferred to be called by his middle name, Eliot. Already they’d spoken on the phone for nearly two hours, and tomorrow night she would meet him for drinks at a bar called Changes.
“Bebe, you were so funny tonight. I was feeling a little blue before we went on, but a couple times I really had to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing.” The compliment came from Hoshi, the beautiful Japanese-American model who sat ten feet to Bebe’s left for the duration of Dazzling Diamonelle.
“Hoshi, what a sweet thing to say, thank you so much. But I’ll tell you something, I’d trade my big fat mouth for your beauty any day.”
Hoshi smiled.
And then before leaving the set, Bebe turned to her. “Oh, Hoshi, by the way, do you know if the Woodlands Mall is still open twenty-four hours a day on Sundays?”
five
“M y father’s dead and my mother wishes she were.”
Bob Shriber, head of broadcast production for the E-Z Shop Channel, laughed at Max’s answer to the question he’d just asked: “How did your parents take the whole penis thing?”
Max noticed that Bob’s suit had a sheen to it. And one stray hair extended out of his left nostril. He also noticed that the office was not nearly as posh as Howard’s. Clearly, this was a rung down on the ladder of success.
“I know you must be sick and tired of defending yourself—but you gotta admit, it’s a pretty unusual way to lose your job.”
“Yeah, actually, I do admit it. But it was a pretty unusual job to begin with, so in a sense it’s like this perfect cosmic thing.” Immediately regretting the Southern California overtones of what he just said, Max changed the subject. “So it seems like a lot of people play golf down here. I mean, I saw a lot of golf courses on the drive from the hotel.”
Bob gave Max a puzzled look.
“Well,
Peggy Jean unfastened the seatbelt she had just fastened and turned around to face her boys. She pointed a finger at her youngest. “Those are the words of the Devil. You must never, ever say those words again, or even think them. God will be very angry with you if you do.” Then, calmer, she said, “Another thing, the next time we encounter one of The Homeless, we will not look at him, we will just mind our own business and pretend he doesn’t exist. Is that clear?”
The boys nodded.
“Good. From now on, we can’t see The Homeless.”
Then she turned around, fastened her seatbelt, and stared straight ahead out the windshield. As the car moved out of the parking lot and onto the street, Peggy Jean tried to put the image of the screaming man out of her mind by thinking of a field of poppies. She allowed her mind to zoom in on a drop of dew that graced one of the gentle petals.
As he steered the car, John wondered if Nikki trimmed and shaped her pubic hair. He decided that she did, and that she left just a small little patch at the top. Probably a little triangle.
B
ebe’s Dazzling Diamonelle show on Sunday night was, as always, a hit. Historically, Bebe’s weekly ten to twelve P.M. show earned the highest ratings of the week. In fact, the only other programs that could challenge the ratings of this Sunday night show were also hosted by Bebe. But as “on” as Bebe always seemed to be, this Sunday night she was even better than usual. Within the course of two hours, nearly every product sold out; almost one and a half million dollars in inventory was moved, making every single minute Bebe was on air laughing, talking about giving Pepper a flea bath, or wishing out loud that her thighs would stop screaming for “more ice cream!” worth over eight thousand dollars.
What Sellevision management and the millions of viewers watching at home could have no way of knowing was that if Bebe was in fact having an exceptionally great night, the reason was due largely to a man who had never even heard of Sellevision. A man who had never met Bebe in person and was named Michael Klein, though he preferred to be called by his middle name, Eliot. Already they’d spoken on the phone for nearly two hours, and tomorrow night she would meet him for drinks at a bar called Changes.
“Bebe, you were so funny tonight. I was feeling a little blue before we went on, but a couple times I really had to bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing.” The compliment came from Hoshi, the beautiful Japanese-American model who sat ten feet to Bebe’s left for the duration of Dazzling Diamonelle.
“Hoshi, what a sweet thing to say, thank you so much. But I’ll tell you something, I’d trade my big fat mouth for your beauty any day.”
Hoshi smiled.
And then before leaving the set, Bebe turned to her. “Oh, Hoshi, by the way, do you know if the Woodlands Mall is still open twenty-four hours a day on Sundays?”
five
“M y father’s dead and my mother wishes she were.”
Bob Shriber, head of broadcast production for the E-Z Shop Channel, laughed at Max’s answer to the question he’d just asked: “How did your parents take the whole penis thing?”
Max noticed that Bob’s suit had a sheen to it. And one stray hair extended out of his left nostril. He also noticed that the office was not nearly as posh as Howard’s. Clearly, this was a rung down on the ladder of success.
“I know you must be sick and tired of defending yourself—but you gotta admit, it’s a pretty unusual way to lose your job.”
“Yeah, actually, I do admit it. But it was a pretty unusual job to begin with, so in a sense it’s like this perfect cosmic thing.” Immediately regretting the Southern California overtones of what he just said, Max changed the subject. “So it seems like a lot of people play golf down here. I mean, I saw a lot of golf courses on the drive from the hotel.”
Bob gave Max a puzzled look.
“Well,
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