iles down at her nipple, which is brown as a
bar of Belgian chocolate, aureole the size of a round of individual cheese and
nipple itself a surprisingly chunky square of crinkled flesh. She follows his
eyes and smiles at him, then puts his hand over her breast, covers it with hers.

"I told you about my mom, right? Wanted to act -- who doesn't? But she was too
conscious of the cliche to mope about it. She got some little parts -- nothing
fab, then went on to work at a Sony dealership. Ten years later, she bought a
franchise. Dad and second-wife run a retreat in West Hollywood for sexually
dysfunctional couples. No sibs. Happy childhood. Happy adolescence. Largely
unsatisfying adulthood, to date."

"Wow, you sound like you've practiced that."

She tweaks his nose, then drapes her arm across his chest. "Got me. Always
writing my autobiography in my head -- gotta have a snappy opener when I'm
cornered by the stalkerazzi."

He laces his fingers in hers, moves close enough to smell her toothpaste-sweet
breath. "Tell me something unrehearsed about growing up."

"That's a stupid request." Her tone is snappish, and her fingers stiffen in his.

"Why?"

"It just is! Don't try to get under my skin, OK? My childhood was fine."

"Look, I don't want to piss you off. I'm just trying to get to know you.
Because... you know... I like you. A lot. And I try to get to know the people I
like."

She smiles her lopsided dimple. "Sorry, I just don't like people who try to mess
with my head. My problem, not yours. OK, something unrehearsed." She closes her
eyes and treats him to the smooth pinkness of her eyelids, and keeps them closed
as she speaks. "I once stole a Veddic Series 7 off my mom's lot, when I was
fifteen. It had all the girly safety features, including a tracker and a panic
button, but I didn't think my mom would miss it. I just wanted to take it out
for a drive. It's LA, right? No wheels, no life. So I get as far as Venice
Beach, and I'm cruising the Boardwalk -- this was just after it went topless, so
I was swinging in the breeze -- and suddenly the engine dies, right in the
middle of this clump of out-of-towners, frat kids from Kansas or something. Mom
had called in a dealer override and Sony shut down the engine by radio."

"Wow, what did you do?"

"Well, I put my shirt back on. Then I popped the hood and poked randomly at the
engine, pulling out the user-servicables and reseating them. The thing was newer
than new,