“I like stuff that bubbles. Seltzer. Beer.”

“Do tell.”

Griffith scooped up two more flutes of champagne from a hovering tray.

“Oh, Taittinger may try,” Griffith resumed. “Bollinger is brave. But the Dom prevails.”

He toasted toward the frolicking crowd. Lined his mouth with another helping of caviar. Sucked it down as he chugged more bubbly.

Griffith then wiped the slime from the stubble of his beard with the back of his hand.

“You’re putting me on,” Constance said. “I think caviar tastes like cunt, myself. The better stuff anyway. Got any cigarettes? Hit me up with one.”

Constance pondered the scene she had just sketched out verbally into the tape recorder. Amidst a tangled web of international intrigue, the highborn heroine’s conflicting lust for two elegant but rakish suitors causes her to withdraw from them both. The two rejected lovers seek solace in libertinage, flicking every tail within their long reaches. As for the heroine-she now finds herself drawn affectionately toward a commoner. A private detective, no less.

Constance was pleased. It was a fanciful plot, to be sure. But it was a tale her readers would gobble up. For it went straight to the heart of their fantasies.

There was a rustle in the wind.

Someone coming? “Shitfuckcunt,” Constance muttered.

Interrupting both her sunning and the drumming on her tummy.

She slipped the swizzle stick from where it had dallied within the wrinkles of her snatch.

Constance worked her eyes open a peep.

Creeped her fingers up to her chest.

Gave her tits a quick twist.

Fished in her mouth with the swizzle stick.

Slid it back into the glass among the molten cubes. All that remained of her drink.

“Hello?” she lowed, adjusting her hair. “Yoo-hoo. Anyone there?”

Chapter II

Consommй of cuntjuice ladled along the insides of her thighs, Constance shielded her eyes from the sun. “Hello? Did I hear someone?”