Her hair was long and loose. Harlow-blond, her face ghostly and beautiful, like that of an embalmed princess. Shoulders white as soap, with little bumps where the collarbones arched upward. Rouged nipples like jelly candy.

And always the cat, the hateful Persian, fat and spineless as a cotton ball, snuggled against her breast, piggy, water-colored eyes shining with defiance at the boy, hissing ownership of all that female flesh, branding him an intruder.

Come-a-here, snowball. Come to Mama, sweet thing.

The stink, also. More intense as he got closer to the bed. Shit-breath. The oily liqueur, redolent of juniper. French perfume, Bal a Versailles, so cloying even the recollection made him gag.

She slept all day and left the glacier at night to do battle with Doctor. Throwing open the door to her room and surging down the stairs in a swirl of satin.

They'd start. He'd wake up, jolted by the bad-machine sound-a cruel roar that wouldn't stop, as if he'd been locked in a shower, the water turned on full force. He'd get up, still groggy, trace a hypnotic path from his room to the top of the stairs, then down each step, feeling the heat of her bare feet radiating from the carpet. Thirteen stairs. He always counted in his head, always stopped at number six before sitting down to listen. Not daring to move as the machine sounds began to separate in his mind, his brain breaking the roar down into lip-smacking growls and bone-crunching syllables.

Words.

The same words, always. Hammer blows that made him cringe.

Good evening, Christina.

Don't good evening me. Where have you been!

Don't start, Christina. I'm tired.

You're tired? I'm tired. Of how you treat me. Where were you until ten after one!

Goodnight, Christina.

Answer me, you bastard! Where the hell have you been?

I don't have to answer your questions.

You goddamn do have to answer my questions!

You're entitled to your opinion, Christina.

Don't you dare smirk at me like that! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!

Lower your voice, Christina.

Answer me, damn you!

What do you care?

I care because this is my house, not some goddamned motel that you check in and out of!

Your house? Amusing. What mortgage checks have you written lately?

I pay the real bills, you bastard, from my soul-I gave up everything to be your whore!

Oh, really?

Yes, really, damn you.

And what is it exactly that you're supposed to have given up?

My career. My goddamned soul.

Your soul. I see.

Don't you dare smirk at me, you bastard!

All right, all right, no one's smirking. Just get out of here and no one will smirk at anyone.

I paid for everything, damn you-with blood and sweat and tears.

Enough, Christina. I'm tired.

You're tired? From what? Running around with your candy-striper whores-

I'm tired because I've been cracking chests all day.

Cracking chests. Big shot. Lousy bastard. Whore-fucker.

You're the whore, remember? By your own admission.

Shut up!

Fine. Now crawl back upstairs and leave me alone.

Don't you tell me what to do, you bastard! You're not my boss. I'm my own boss!

You're drunk, is what you are.

You drive me to drink.

Right, your weaknesses are my responsibility.

Don't laugh at me, I'm warning you-

You drink, Christina, because you're weak. Because you can't face life. You're a coward.

Bastard goddamned bastard! What's that you're guzzling, Coca-Cola?

I can handle my liquor.

I can handle my liquor.

Don't imitate me, Christina.

Fine. Now get the hell out of here. Drink yourself cirrhotic and leave me alone.

Drink yourself cirrhotic. You and your fucking jargon, think you're a hotshot. Everyone thinks you're a pompous asshole-when I worked Four West, everyone said so.

Didn't slop you from licking my balls, did it?

It made me want to throw up. I did it for your money.

Fine. You've got my money. Now get the hell out of here.

I'll stay wherever the hell I want to.

You're out of control, Christina. Rambling. Make an appointment with Emil Diefenbach tomorrow and have him check you out for organic brain disease.

And you're a limpdick asshole.

Pathetic

Stop smirking, limpdick!

Pathetic.

Maybe I am pathetic, maybe I am! At least I'm human, unlike you the fucking machine who can handle everything. You're perfect-Mister Per… Doctor Perfect! Handles anything except getting a hard-on! Doctor Limpdick Perfect!

Pathetic lush.

What is that, Coca-fucking-Cola!

Get away, Christina, I'm-

Sure doesn't taste like Coca-fucking-

Get away-

-Cola!

-Oh, shit, you spilled it all over me.

Poor baby, poor limpdick! Serves you right! Slob! Whore-fucker!

Get out of the way, you goddamned bitch! Get out of the way, damn you! I need to clean this off!

Just throw it out Doctor Limpdick. Fucking Italian suit makes you look like a greaseball, anyway.

Move, Christina!

Whore-fucker.

MOVE!

Fuck you!

I'm warning you!

I'm warning you-Ow! You-oh, you pushed me you hurt me, you lousy stinking bastard! Oh! Ow, my foot-Look at you. Dribbling. Pathetic.