“You never saw anything as mesmerizing as the execution on The Death Game, Sig. The sheer excitement of watching someone slowly die was mind-blowing. And even when the cripple was forced to use terminally ill contestants, and even though the person being executed wanted to die, it was still incredible to watch. Imagine if the person didn’t want to die! My God, how great would that be? It was enthralling, Sig. Knowing that agony and extinction were on the way for the contestant and…and…the fact that you were actually going to see an execution take place! See someone die in front of your eyes! The old coot said it was…what was the word he used…hypnotic, that was it, hypnotic…and he was right. It was. It was absolutely hypnotic. Then, when the first signs of the poison set in…the twisting and turning…the facial tics…the eyes widening, the mouth grimacing, the fingers starting to claw at the arms of the chair…and…and…”

“Easy. Easy. Calm down,” said the producer’s lawyer. “You’re getting yourself all—”

“I didn’t say a word when I left the creep’s apartment. I didn’t want to let him know how excited I was. I’m going to do that program, Sig. I must do that program. I must be the one to bring that idea to television, and nobody, I mean nobody’s going to stand in my way, especially a little piece of scheise like that old cripple. If I have to have the idiot killed, I’ll have him killed.”

“If you must, you must,” said the lawyer named Sigmond Levy, sucking out a chewy piece of lobster caught between two teeth.

The maid returned with the main course.

One afternoon, someone knocked on Arthur Durch’s office door, opened it, and walked in.

“Evelyn Lounge! What are you doing here?” said Arthur.

“Evelyn Lounge Durch,” corrected Evelyn.

My God, thought Arthur to himself, it’s so good to see her. Her ratty hair. The dirty wisps across her forehead. The sunlight on her face. Her bloodshot eyes. Her flat chest. Her sticks for legs. God, she’s beautiful. God, I love her. “God, you’re beautiful, Evelyn. God, I love you,” he said, the words just popping out of his mouth.

“Beauty’s in the eyes of the beholder,” replied Evelyn Lounge.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just…it sounded like something I should say.”

“Okay. Whatever. So why are you here?”

“I need therapy, Arthur.”

“What kind of therapy?”

“Your kind, Arthur. Sex therapy. That’s what you are, a sex therapist, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well?”

“Why do you think you need sex therapy, Evelyn?”

“Because I’m nurturing other boyfriends and I—”

“Nurturing?”

“Yes, nurturing…I am nurturing a group of new boyfriends—”

“A group?”

“Yes, more than one. Would you let me finish a sentence, please. And I would like to…to…to…”

“Fuck? Is that what you would like to do? Fuck your new group of boyfriends? The new group of boyfriends you’re nurturing?” asked Arthur Durch with considerable anger.