Still slumped obscenely in her chair, the young girl shook her head and bit her lip. "But… I try!" was all she could think of saying.

Tapping his fingers, Web nodded, looking off. Nichole dreaded the next few minutes, dreaded hearing the words. She knew there had been other girls. Beautiful girls! She had seen then in movies that Web would run for her and his guests; beautiful girls who performed obscenities for Web just like she did. These girls she saw were no longer around, and Web would never say what had happened to them.

He had Nichole addicted in a subtle way. She was used to and keyed to a life of orgies and money. She was hooked on jetting to England for a week, then a ski weekend at Squaw Valley, then catching a new show opening on Broadway. She now needed the excitement of being near famous people and speaking with them. Once, she had met a famous comedian who liked her so much they had sex together. She was used to and, in a sense, needed the clothes and champagne that Web bought. He was more than generous, he was lavish in his style of living. So long as she had that, so long as she felt she was part of his entourage, she felt her life had some meaning. And excitement! "Excitement" meant places, seeing people, being conscious that she was at the hub of things, that she was where the action was, that she was envied and photographed. "Excitement" was something she had now come to need. Web Hardman being bored with her meant banishment. She would eventually have to get a job somewhere and read in the paper about the "Jet Set" and their adventures. No, Nichole didn't want the terrible gray obscurity that would come if Web cast her off like an old unwanted item of clothing.

Web, with the timing of a master-actor, cleared his throat and said, "Of course, there is something."