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Chapters (55)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Acknowledgments
  6. Cast of Characters
  7. Part One
  8. One
  9. Two
  10. Three
  11. Four
  12. Five
  13. Six
  14. Seven
  15. Eight
  16. Nine
  17. Ten
  18. Eleven
  19. Twelve
  20. Thirteen
  21. Fourteen
  22. Fifteen
  23. Sixteen
  24. Seventeen
  25. Eighteen
  26. Nineteen
  27. Part Two
  28. Twenty
  29. Twenty-one
  30. Twenty-two
  31. Twenty-three
  32. Twenty-four
  33. Twenty-five
  34. Twenty-six
  35. Twenty-seven
  36. Twenty-eight
  37. Twenty-nine
  38. Thirty
  39. Thirty-one
  40. Thirty-two
  41. Thirty-three
  42. Thirty-four
  43. Thirty-five
  44. Thirty-six
  45. Thirty-seven
  46. Thirty-eight
  47. Thirty-nine
  48. Forty
  49. Forty-one
  50. Forty-two
  51. Forty-three
  52. Forty-four
  53. Forty-five
  54. Forty-six
  55. A note on the Author

Just as I was wondering how to get her out completely as soon as possible, my thoughts were distracted by the sight of a large cockroach, dead and decaying, smack in the middle of a glue trap at the base of the bathroom sink. I decided not to wait in for her and scanned the papers for movie programs. Pulling on a pair of flip-flops, I got the hell out of there.

I stood in line to see Gladiator, more distraught than I was when I bolted out of the house, because the line was so long. I think I have a reverse version of the Cassandra syndrome. You know? She could see into the future but her curse was that no one would ever believe her. My curse is that everyone believes me. Of course, I don’t foresee wars or plagues, just pop stars and movie idols. As soon as I started saying that there was this great Australian character actor named Russell Crowe, he becomes the world’s biggest star. When I’m out there, busily collecting rare B-sides by an indie band called R.E.M., they sign to a major label and become the biggest rock act in the world. It’s at a point where I’m scared to like anything for fear that they’ll become huge. Sliced up and handed to the people in such slim portions that there’s nothing left for me.

As the line grew longer behind me, I tried to swallow my panic. Everyone around me was talking about how Russell Crowe is absolutely their favorite actor and I just wanted to cry. I was wearing the same pajamas I had had on for two days and nights. They weren’t even cute, attention-seeking pajamas with blue flannel sheep, or a sexy negligée, underwear as outerwear. I had on a pair of ratty track pants and an oversized T-shirt I bought on St. Mark’s Place that says “I love chicks with big tits.” I bought it for Sebastian who thought it was totally punk-rock and cool. On me, with my breasts bursting through the print, it was just alarming. The track pants had pieces of cord digging into my stomach and they were hell to sleep in but I was too lazy to take them off. The outfit I had on was special, in that it was appropriate neither for the comfort of my bed nor for public viewing.