\"All I ve learned about women is that whatever it is .they
want it s what I don t have，\" I said， to see what kind.of rise
it would get.
\"Don t have it--never had it--can t get it，\" I added， a
little portentously.
I was talking， as usual， mostly to hear myself talk.
Declarations of that nature cut no ice with my companion，
and I knew it. She was cradling a coffee cup in her hands
and looking out the window of the restaurant. For all
practical purposes， she was absentma woman enjoying her
coffee--but that was all right. It was Sunday noon， a time
when almost everyofie in Hollywood might be described as
absent. Probably the health freaks were out， chasing one
another around West~ood， but they didn t count. The true
lotus-eaters were still in their mansions and bungalows， in
the hazy hills， languid from all-night drinking， all-night
doping， and all-night TV. Some few of them may even have
got fucked， from what one hears， but I couldn t bet on it. By
noon they would have begun to grope around in their vast
beds， flopping their limbs now and then， blank， spiritless，
and slothlike， hoping the phone would ring and summon
them back to life. Before the first phone call not many of
them would be able to vouch for their own existence， but
once the little bell begins to jingle they soon take heart. In
an hour or two most of them will be up and about， ready to
choke down some more lotus.
Jill kept looking out at the Sunset Strip， which was white
with noon sunlight and a little blurry with smog. I pointed
my fork at her， meaning to generalize further about the
impossibilities of women， but before I could swallow the
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