He patted his face with aftershave by Pierre Cardin. No rubbish.

When he came out, he was warm and naked inside the black silk kimono, on the back of which was a rippling scarlet dragon. Across the pocket in white were the initials L.M.

"Nothing like a shower," he said to the girl, who was sitting on the leopardskin bed. Her glass was very full. Either she had not drunk it or she had finished and poured herself another. "You like a drink," said Lorlo. "But I've got something even better." He opened the outer door and Honey came immediately toward him with the cellophane packet, fresh from the tinfoil in the chicken, washed and sealed.

And who should it be tonight? Froggy, Lorlo thought. He took down the photograph of Bette Davis, with her beautiful frog eyes. Unsealing the packet, he scattered the cocaine across her face and breast and hair.

Ruth was watching.

"That's right. See what I do."

He cut the powder with a gold-plated, cutthroat razor. Then he took the silver tube, and snorted up the drug. He made the noises of a man trying to shift heavy catarrh.

Lorlo raised his head.

The cocaine was at once singing in his blood, the wonderful clean high, not like alcohol at all. Nothing was like it. Candy had been a fool, greedy, abusing little bitch. The partition of her septum had disintegrated. She had been ready to snuff up the dross of the streets, cut with bleach and talcum.

"Now some for you," said Lorlo to Ruth, generously standing away and offering her the tube.

"No," said Ruth.

"Yes. It's great stuff. The best. Have some. Then you can take a bath. I've got some pretty things for you to wear. You're a lovely girl, Ruth." He picked up the photograph with its remaining lines of powder, and went toward her.

"No," said Ruth. "I don't want it."

"It's easy. Just use the tube. You'll love it."

"No."

Lorlo stopped. "Okay. Your loss." He put the photograph back on the table. Lowering his face he slid the silver tube up his nose and snorted the last cocaine nois-ily.

Ruth still watched, stroking the dead leopards on the bed.

He would give her some later. There was the other packet. She would need it then.

"Okay, Ruth. Go and take a bath."

When she had washed and donned the lace and rub-her undies, he would fuck her. The cocaine would make him potent but quick. So then he would strap on the dildo, and do it to her that way, until he was ready again. He would play '80s Sinatra on the music center. The greatest.

No girl who came in here stayed unbroken, or unlearned.

He would know Ruth, by the time he had finished.

She stood up. She said, "I want to go now."

Lorlo laughed good-humoredly. "Can't oblige. Come on, why waste yourself?"

"I want to go."