"I told you. Didn't I tell you? I'm hard again. Swear to God, that's how much I like it. I might just come again. Right here, right now. As we speak."

"Good to know."

Tunwell broke into a seizurelike fit of laughter. He slapped Myron's shoulder.

"Ned?"

Tunwell's laughter faded away like the end of a song. He wiped his eyes. "You kill me, Myron. I can't stop laughing. You really kill me."

"Yeah, I'm a scream. Did you hear about Valerie Simpson's murder?"

"Sure. It was on the radio. I used to work with her, you know." He was still smiling, his eyes wide and bright.

"She was with Nike?" Myron asked.

"Yep. And let me tell you, she cost us a bundle. I mean, Valerie seemed like a sure thing. She was only sixteen years old when we signed her and she'd already reached the finals of the French Open. Plus she was good-looking, all-American, the works. And she was already developed, if you know what I mean. She wasn't a cute little kid who might turn into a beast when she got a little older. Like Capriatti. Valerie was a babe."

"So what happened?"

Ned Tunwell shrugged. "She had a breakdown. Shit, it was in all the papers."

"What caused it?"

"Hell if I know. Lot of rumors."

"Like?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it. "I forget."

"You forget?"

"Look, Myron, most people thought it was just too much, you know? All that pressure. Valerie couldn't hack it. Most of these kids can't. They get it all, you know, reach such big heights and then poof, it's gone. You can't imagine what it's like to lose everything like… uh…" Ned stammered to a stop. Then he lowered his head. "Ah, shit."

Myron remained silent.

"I can't believe I said that, Myron. To you of all people."

"Forget it."

"No. I mean, look, I can pretend I didn't just put my foot in my mouth like that, but…"