thing reminded him of when Barbara Eden would play her evil sister on / Dream of Jeannie. He was often torn back then too, not sure if Larry Hagman should stay with Jeannie or run off with the enticingly evil sister. But hey, talk about your great dilemmas.

"I thought you were bringing backup," Thrill said.

"I am."

"Where is he?"

"If things go well, you won't see him."

"How mysterious."

"Isn't it?"

They headed inside and grabbed a corner booth in the back. Yep, biker wanna-be. Lots of guys aiming for that hairy, Vietnam vet-cum-hit-the-road look. The jukebox played "God Only Knows (What I'd Be Without You)" -the Beach Boys, but unlike anything else the Beach Boys did. The song was a plaintive wail, and despite its pop misgivings, it always struck Myron to the bone, the trepidation of what the future might hold so naked in Brian's voice, the words so hauntingly simple. Especially now.

Thrill was studying his face. "You okay?" she asked.

"Fine. So what happens next?"

"We order a drink, I guess."

Five minutes passed. "Lonely Boy" came on the jukebox. Andrew Gold. Serious seventies AM bubble gum. Chorus: "Oh, oh, oh... oh what a lonely boy... oh what a lonely boy... oh what a lonely boy." By the time the chorus was repeated for the eighth time, Myron had it down pat so he sang along. Megamemory. Maybe he should do an infomercial.

Men at nearby tables checked out Thrill, some surreptitiously, most not. Thrill's smile was practically a leer now, sinking deeper into the role.

"You get into this," Myron said.

"It's a part, Myron. We're all actors on a stage and all that."

"But you enjoy the attention."

"So?"

"So I was just saying."

She shrugged. "I find it fascinating."

"What's that?"

"What a large bosom does to a man. They get so obsessed."

"You just reached the conclusion that men are mammary-obsessed? I hate to break this to you, Nancy, but the research has been done."

"But it's weird when you think about it."

"I try not to."

"Bosoms do weird things to men, no doubt," she said, "but I don't like what they do to women either."

"How's that?"

Thrill put her palnds on the table. "Okay, everyone knows that we women put too much of our self-worth into our bodies. Old news, right?"

"Right."

"I know it, you know it, everyone knows it. And unlike my more feminist sisters, I don't blame men for this."

"You don't?"

"Mademoiselle, Vogue, Bazaar, Glamour-those are run by women and have a totally female clientele. They want to change the image, start there. Why ask the men to change a perception that women themselves won't change?"

"Refreshing viewpoint," Myron noted.

"But bosoms do funny things to people. Men, okay, that's obvious. They become brain-dead. It's as if the nipples shoot out like two grapefmit spoons, dig into their frontal lobe, and scrape away all cognitive thought."

Myron looked up, the imagery giving him pause.

"But for women, well, it starts when you're young. A girl develops early. Adolescent boys start lusting after her. How do her girlfriends react? They take it out on her. They're jealous of the attention or feeling inadequate or whatever. But they take it out on the young girl who can't help what her body is going through. With me?"

"Yes."

"Even now. Look at the glances the women in here give me. Pure hatred. You get a group of women together and a chesty counterpart walks by and they all sigh, Oh, please.' Professional women, for example, feel the urge to dress down-not just because of leering men but because of women. Because of how women treat them. A businesswoman sees a big-chested businesswoman with a better title-well, she got the job because of her tits. Plain and simple. Might be true, might not be. Is this animosity spawned again from dofrnant jealousy or a misplaced feeling of inadequacy or because they unfairly equate bosoms with stupidity? Any way you look at it, it's an ugly thing."

"I never really thought about it," Myron said.

"And finally I don't like what it does to me."

"Your reaction to seeing a big chest or having one?"

"The latter."

"Why?"

"Because the big-breasted woman gets used to it. She takes it for granted. She uses them to her advantage."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"All attractive people do that," Myron said. "It's not just bosoms. If a woman is beautiful, she knows it and uses it. Nothing wrong with that. Men use it too, if they can. Sometimes-I'm ashamed to admit this-even I shake my little tush to get my way."

"Shocking."

"Well, not really. Because it never works."

"I think you're being modest. But either way,