I felt my face go hot with embarrassment and repugnance just listening to this shit, but mercifully the show was over. Derek sat there in a spotlight of silence, his head bowed with false modesty, like a superstar taking his eighteenth curtain call.

“That was wonderful,” Val said.

“Thank you.” His lips formed the words, no more than a whisper. It was in its way another form of insolence, the gratuitous insolence of an actor who has never learned that condescension, arrogance, and generally bad manners are not enough, coupled somehow with the necessary insolence of the benevolent king to the canaille, of the Enlightened to the dumb civilian-serf. It was the way you treat autograph hounds in Hollywood.

“That’s why,” he went on with a courageous little smile, “it’s important that I keep going with my career.”

“Absolutely,” she said. “Someday you’ll look back on these times and laugh.”

“I want to laugh now,” he said. “How am I ever going to reach that point, unless…” he raised his head, confronting her. “You decide about that contest?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “not yet.”

“If it’s too much to ask…”

“No,” she said, “I’ll probably do it.”

“When?” he persisted. “The entry blank’s been around here for two weeks. It’s turning brown.”

“What contest?” I asked.

“The Wet T-shirt Tournament,” Derek said, “at the Arm Pit Bar and Grill. Three hundred clams to the winner.” He turned to Valerie. “You’d be a shoo-in,” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders inconclusively.

“What about the bull pen?” he pressed on. “Where you work?”

“No,” she said, “that’s out.”

“Then,” he threatened, “I’ll get the money myself.” He blew a long-suffering sigh in her face. “Christ,” he went on, “I can’t depend on you for anything.”

With remarkable composure she left his side and crossed the room.

“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.”

“You make me feel awkward.” Her mouth quickened at the corners. She seemed to cringe, menaced by his flash point.

It was painful, listening to the rasp of his bullying voice, the vulnerability of hers. I knew what would happen: he’d press her, she’d resist, he’d tighten the thumbscrews, she’d comply, until once more he’d become the navel of her world. I had seen it all before, and I didn’t want to see it again. I got to my feet. Perhaps they’d have the civility to effect a brief armistice until I was out the door.

But no. “All I want is a little cooperation and,” he asked, “what do I get?”

“You get every damned cent I make.”

“What you make is laughable. You’re laughable.”

“Don’t say that,” she warned, “don’t laugh at me.”

“Ha ha,” he countered, defiantly.

“You think I don’t know why you’re pissed off?”

“I’m pissed off because I can’t even ask a simple favor.”