You think there were a lot of places Mother Theresa could unwind? Of course not. But there was one. At the Dr. Feelgood’s injectable VIP getaways, in his E. 53rd Splash-pad. Of course he made tapes. Wouldn’t you? After three hours, everybody’s gone full-blown pervaloid. There’s Tennessee, wearing Mother Theresa’s surprisingly plush, high-rise undergarments. “If I wore these, they’d call me mother!” Truman giggles on the table as Mama Tess gives him a little keister-slap. “I’ve lived so long I’m in diapers again. What’s next, breast-feeding? I do have Marilyn’s number.”

Tennessee, lying on his back with his head on Marlene Dietrich’s breast, plucks the cigarette holder out of her mouth, takes a hit of her German cigarettes. (She hated American smokes and only smoked Deutschland-made Roth-händles.) Tennessee puts the cigarette back between Dietrich’s teeth before turning back to Truman. “Diaper’s an improvement, honey. I’m just happy I don’t have to see that pink glove you had hanging out of your hiney.” “I will have you know, I earned that, baby.” That Capote giggle. John D. Rockefeller liked to rub himself through his Brooks Brothers suits and hide in the clothes hamper. You know, Rockefeller died in the saddle. Rumor had it he was riding a twenty-three year old. But the truth is his heart gave out—the way Fosse’s gave out, the way Jackie Wilson’s did onstage at the Latin Casino, in New Jersey, in the middle of “Shake, Shake, Shake.”

“After Dr. Max started travelling in the Kennedy encourage, the future president found himself in the same city at the same time as Johnny Cash. JC heard from the locals in the know that Max had some kind of dream speed that would blow his hillbilly white-crosses out of the water. Turned out Friendly Max liked to take a few appointments wherever he went. He was always well-stocked. He’d see people in his hotel room. That’s where Johnny Cash and JFK found themselves bent over, cheek to cheek, in a Memphis Sheraton while Dr. J was doing a double bang of vitamins, speed and a splash of methadone with the news on.” Then, after Kennedy wiped off the lip of Johnny’s whiskey bottle when Johnny handed it to him, Johnny got pissed and took a swing at him. Kennedy ducked, and threw his back out, and ended up on the bed, groaning, while Dr. Max fished around in his bag for cortisone and Johnny stomped around explaining that only a real punk would wipe his mouth before taking a jolt off another man’s whiskey. “That’s like insulting a man’s wife, Kennedy!” “I would never insult your wife,” JFK said, “I don’t even know her. You have any pictures.”