She gets lost in the moment, pulls my face between her legs. It’s a bit swampy, but not altogether unpleasant, and I start swaying my head back and forth across her crotch till she says, “What are you doin’?”

“You like that move?” I say.

“It’s certainly different.”

“I call it the Stevie Wonder.”

“Why?”

“Because when Stevie’s rocking out to a tune, he moves his head like this.”

I demonstrate again and she says, “Show me your Patsy Cline.”

“That’s a woman, right? Are you into women?”

“I was just tryin’ to think of someone more mellow, and less enthusiastic.”

I barely get started on the Patsy project when a guy starts banging on the front door.

“Gideon!” he shouts. “Come on! We’re late!”

Trudy whispers, “If you don’t answer, maybe he’ll go away.”

“You don’t know Bruce Luce.”

“Who? What kind of name is that?”

“Don’t get me started.”

I throw a towel around my waist, and answer the door.

Bruce, our hospital administrator, looks disgusted. It’s okay, I’ve seen this look a million times.

“What are we late for?” I ask.

“You can’t be serious. The audition? The interview? Jane Fain?”

“Shit. I forgot.”

“I don’t believe this! When I got you off the ledge you said you were going straight home to change. Where are your clothes?”

“Uh…”

“What’s that sheen all over your face?”

“Sheen?”

“It’s glowing.”

“It is?”

He sniffs, then winces. “Whatever it is, it’s all over your face, forehead, and ears.” He sniffs again. “It’s pungent as hell!”

“I’ll grab a quick shower.”

“There’s no time. If we don’t leave this very minute we’ll be late. Jane Fain is more than a booking agent. She’s the gatekeeper to daytime TV. Now throw on some clothes and get your ass in gear!”

I run to the bedroom, kiss Trudy goodbye, start getting dressed.

“You’re leavin’ me?” she says.

“I hate to, but I’m late.”

“You just got the oven warmed.”

“Excuse me?”

She points down there.

“I suppose I did. But unfortunately, I can’t stay for dinner.”

She laughs. “Speakin’ of dinner, are we still meetin’ your friends tomorrow night?”

“They’re not friends, they’re donors.”

“Still, you’re the guest of honor, right?”

“I suppose.”

“I can’t wait! It’ll be so much fun!”

“You can’t be serious.”

She smiles. “We’re a couple now. I’m part of your life.”

I smile, point at her crotch. “To be continued!” I say.

“I’ll be waitin’. But in the meantime, I’m gonna shower.”

“And after that?”

She pinches her nostrils and says, “Burn the sheets.”

5.

AFTER WATCHING MY audition tape, Jane Fain is as unimpressed as a skunk sniffing a fart.

“I’ve seen uglier men than Dr. Box,” she says. “But not on daytime TV. He’s too old and cold to be a celebrity doctor. Not to mention the odor coming off his face is suspect to the point I refuse to question its origin.”

“He’s the most famous cardiothoracic surgeon in the world!” Bruce Luce says.

Jane says, “The qualifications that best serve our demographic include thick sandy hair, dimples, and perfect teeth.”

“You’re missing the point. Dr. Box is the only surgeon in the history of the world who’s never lost a patient! And when you consider he only works on hopeless case infants, the ones every other surgeon and specialist has given up on—”

“It goes deeper than dimples, Mr.