"Do you want to have dinner next week at the White House?"

    "Oh, I dunno, Marty; whadda you feel like doin'?"

    "Eating candy and getting sick."

    Chris chuckled. "Where's Rags, by the way?"

    "Downstairs in the playroom."

    "'What doin'?"

    "Sculpting. She's making a bird, I think. It's for you."

    "Yeah, I need one," Chris murmured. She moved to the stove and poured a cup of hot coffee. "Were you kidding me about that dinner?" she asked.

    "No, of course not," answered Sharon. "It's Thursday."

    "Big party?"

    "No, I gather it's just five or six people."

    "No kidding!"

    She was pleased but not really surprised. They courted her company: cab drivers; poets; professors; kings. What was it they liked about her? Life? Chris sat at the table. "How'd the lesson go?"

    Sharon lit a cigarette, frowning. "Had a bad time with math again."

    "Oh? Gee, that's funny."

    "I know; it's her favorite subject," said Sharon.

    "Oh, well, this 'new math,' Christ, I couldn't make change for the bus if---"

    "Hi, Mom!"

    She was bounding through the door, slim arms outstretched. Red ponytail. Soft, shining face full of freckles.

    "Hi ya, stinkpot!" Beaming, Chris caught her in a bearhug, squeezing, then kissed the girl's cheek with smacking ardor. She could not repress the full flood of her love. "Mmum-mmum-mmum!" More kisses. Then she held Regan out and probed her face with eager eyes. "What'djya do today? Anything exciting?"

    "Oh stuff."

    "So what kinda stuff?"

    "Oh, lemme see." She had her knees against her mother's, swaying gently back and forth. "Well, of -course, I studied."

    "Uh-huh."

    "An' I painted."

    "Wha'djya paint?"

    "Oh, well, flowers, ya know. Daisies? Only pink. An' then---Oh, yeah! This horse!" She grew suddenly excited, eyes widening. "This man had a horse, ya know, down by the river? We were walking, see, Mom, and then along came this horse, he was beautiful! Oh, Mom, ya should've seen him, and the man let me sit on him! Really! I mean, practically a minute!"

    Chris twinkled at Sharon with secret amusement. "Himself?" she asked, lifting an eyebrow. On moving to Washington for the shooting of the film, the blonde secretary, who was now virtually one of the family, had lived in the house, occupying an extra bedroom upstairs. Until she'd met the "horseman" at a nearby stable. Sharon needed a place to be alone, Chris then decided, and had moved her to a suite in an expensive hotel and insisted on paying the bill.

    "Himself." Sharon smiled in response to Chris.

    "It was a gray horse!" added Regan. "Mother, can't we get a horse? I mean, could we?"

    "We'll see, baby."

    "When could I have one?"

    "We'll see. Where's the bird you made?"

    Regan looked blank for a moment; then turned around to Sharon and grinned, her mouth full of braces and shy rebuke. "You told." Then, "It was a surprise," she snickered to her mother.

    "You mean...?"

    "With the long funny nose, like you wanted!"

    "Oh, Rags, that's sweet. Can I see it?"

    "No, I still have to paint it. When's dinner, Mom?"

    "Hungry?"

    "I'm starving."

    "Gee, it s not even five. When was lunch?" Chris asked Sharon.

    "Oh, twelvish," Sharon answered.

    "When are Willie and Karl coming back?"

    She had given their the afternoon off.

    "I think seven," said Sharon.

    "Mom, can't we go to the Hot Shoppe?" Regan pleaded. "Could we?"

    Chris lifted her daughter's hand; smiled fondly; kissed it. "Run upstairs and get dressed and we'll go."

    "Oh, I love you!"

    Regan ran from the room.

    "Honey, wear the new dress!" Chris called out after her.

    "How would you like to be eleven?" mused Shalom.

    "That an offer?"

    Chris reached for her mail, began listlessly sorting through scrawled adulation, "Would you take it?" asked Sharon.

    "With the brain I've got now?" All the memories?"

    "Sure."

    "No deal."

    "Think it over."

    "I'm thinking." Chris picked up a script with a covering letter clipped neatly to the front of it. Jarris. Her agent. "Thought I told them no scripts for a while."

    "You should read it," said Sharon.

    "Oh, yeah?"

    "Yes, I read it this morning."

    "Pretty good?"

    "It's great."

    "And I get to play a nun who discovers she's a lesbian, right?"

    "No, you get to play nothing."

    "Shit, movies are better than ever. What the hell are you talking about, Sharon? What's the grin for?"

    "They want you to direct," Sharon exhaled coyly with the smoke from her cigarette.