in the sack.
“I wonder what Honey Pilar likes to talk about afterward. I guess I’m getting wistful in my old age. But don’t mind me, go out and buy Slow, Slow Bum. Like always, it does what it’s supposed to do.”
Kit and Honey are throwing a party in their hotel suite. This was the night of the annual Pammie Awards, and Honey is still clutching the special Lifetime Achievement statuette she was given. It has been a wonderful, satisfying evening for Honey Pilar. Reporters and fans and fellow artists come up to her and tell her again and again that the honor is long overdue. Honey knew well in advance that the Association was presenting her with the Lifetime Achievement, so her acceptance speech was gracious and tearful and as nearly grammatically correct as she could manage. She looks beautiful in her silver Lenci sheath.
Kit stands looking out across a city that seems to live for the night, toward a black harbor streaked with the pale green lights of bridges. He imagines that he’s on board one of the slowly moving ships creasing the dark water, going away, sailing off toward some useful existence. Beyond the window the world seems cold and clean. People are hurrying according to unknown but vital reasons, they are not…wandering. The stars are hard, white, not dimmed and hazy with smoke. Kit turns and gazes at the room, at the men and women talking and laughing. The hotel has catered this party, and the champagne is cheap and sweet. Kit sets his plastic champagne glass on the holoset for the maid to clear away. He looks for Honey.
He finds her in a corner, talking with her agent and a representative from ABT. He brings her a fresh glass of the awful champagne. Honey looks up quickly and smiles at him. Her eye makeup looks terrible. The agent indicates the Lifetime Achievement Award in her hand. “They wouldn’t have given that to you if they didn’t love you, you know,” he says.
“I owe you, too,” says Honey. Kit thinks that he wound her up too much earlier in the evening, and now she just can’t stop being gracious.
The agent smiles. “You did all the work, Honey.”
Kit thinks of the seventeen-year-old boy from the beach.
The woman from ABT swallows the last of her potato salad. “Are you giving any thought yet to retiring?” she asks.
The agent glares at her. Honey’s eyes open wide, and then she runs across the room. Kit follows her. He hears the agent say, “There isn’t any air in here anymore.”
Half an hour later the party is over. Kit and the agent are trying to make Honey feel better. “That woman was a fool,” says the agent.
Honey shakes her head. “They give me the Lifetime Award. They do when your career is over.”
“That’s not what it meant at all,” says the agent. “They were telling you that you’re the best, that you’ve always been the best.”
Kit takes a deep breath and lets it out. “I think we’d better call it a night,” he says.
The agent stands up. “Well, anyway, it’s time for me to run. Thanks for all the free drinks.” He bends to kiss Honey on the cheek. “Congratulations, baby,” he says. “Don’t worry about that ABT woman. She’ll be out of a job tomorrow.”
When they’re alone, Honey puts her head on Kit’s shoulder and sobs. He pushes her away. “Don’t start that on me now,” he says. “Don’t get into this sad and insecure business again. I don’t want to put up with it right now, I’m too tired.”
Honey stares at him. “How do you talk to me like that?”
Kit turns away. “It’s easy,” he says. “We have this same conversation about three times a week. I’ve learned my part. You’re still trying to get it right because in your line of work you don’t have to worry about learning lines.”
Honey turns him around and slaps his face. Kit gives her a thin smile. “You want me to pat your shoulder for you, is that it? You want me to tell you that you’re not getting old?”
Honey slams her fist into his chest. He flinches, but says nothing. “I tell you I hate you like this,” she says, tears falling down her lovely cheeks. She runs into their bedroom and slams the door behind her.
Kit stares after her. “You’re still my wife, you know,” he calls after her. “Get undressed, and get ready.” He knows that will make her even angrier.
This is the only part of their relationship that is all his, that exists only between the two of them. As long as there is this small domain that no one else shares, he will stay with her. Kit becomes aroused at last. “I want you,” he says.
She opens the bedroom door and looks at him blankly.
“I want you,” he says. “But tonight I want you to use this.” He offers her a pink plastic moddy. He’s never asked her to be anyone else before.
Her eyes narrow. She looks at the moddy. “But this is me,” she says, not understanding.
He laughs. “Yes, it’s you. Only younger.” Kit wants to make love to her tonight. He will hold her in his arms and let himself be carried away by her passion, but already he is thinking of someone else, a young woman with Oriental eyes, leaning close to a microphone and murmuring cryptic messages in other languages.
“Here on Venezia Affascinante tonight, we’re going to get you excited, and we’re going to tell you everything there is to tell about the people you love and the people you’d rather hate.
“There are a billion people in this world right now who don’t like Honey Pilar, and there are a billion people who don’t care. The other five billion, though, absolutely adore her, and we’re wondering tonight how they’ll take the news that her fourth marriage has come to a shattering, devastating conclusion. Shattering and devastating to her fourth husband, Kit, because after you’ve been married to Honey Pilar, the rest of the women in the world must suddenly look a little on the drab side. And poor Kit will be hearing a lot of cheeky questions from his friends from now on, like, ‘Say, Kit, how could you have screwed up such a fantastic situation? What’s wrong with you?’
“Venezia Affascinante conducted its own scientific poll of Honey Pilar admirers, and then compared the results with Kit’s own personal reactions, which we gathered via an exclusive long-distance interview. Our question to one hundred average moddy users was this: ‘Which aspect of their relationship will Kit miss the most, now that, thanks to his own stupidity, he’s been abruptly shown the way out of Honey Pilar’s life?’ The most popular reply was her quick starts, low maintenance, and high performance, if you take our meaning. The second most popular answer was Honey’s bank account, because, after all, a good deal of her irresistible attraction lies in her wealth, her extravagant lifestyle, and her association with the most stimulating celebrities in the world. The third answer was, unaccountably, her nose, which we must admit is certainly cute enough.
“It took us several hours to get in touch with Honey’s most recent ex-husband. When he finally accepted our call, we put our question to him for his definitive reply. He said, and this is a direct quote, ‘You can goddamn go to hell!’ And you’ll hear that nowhere else but Venezia Affascinante.
“Some unanswered questions remain: How long will it be before Honey Pilar marries again? Does she already have a candidate in mind? Could this be what led to the divorce? No one particularly cares what happens to Kit, of course, but every detail of Honey’s personal life is of absorbing interest to her vast army of fans. Will she continue to record new moddies, or does this alteration in her life signal a desire to make a fundamental change in her professional career as well? And if she does continue to turn out award-winning moddies, will she take over the reins of her huge financial empire, or will she look for a new business manager as well? Will that business manager be her new husband, or did her experience with Kit teach her a sad lesson about combining her emotional and business interests in one person?
“Whatever she decides, it will be impossible for Honey Pilar to keep her feelings secret for long. Not while Venezia Affascinante is on the job to bring you twenty-four-hour-a-day coverage of the world you like best, the world you wished you lived in. We’ll be back after this word.”
The two account executives are sitting in the smaller of the two dining rooms in Honey Pilar’s home in Provence. They’ve finished lunch and are sipping brandy and beaming down at Honey at the far end of the long table. Both men feel very good, first because the meal they’ve just enjoyed was one of the finest in their memory, and second because this is the only time they’ve come to the walled estate with any real confidence that they’d be able to bring their business to a satisfactory conclusion.
“That was truly marvelous, Miss Pilar,” says the first adman.
“Was good, no?” Honey smiles with innocent pleasure. “Kit gone now, I have what I like to eat. Hire new cook.”
“Well,” says the account executive, letting his expression become gradually more serious. “Perhaps it’s time
