okay, boys. i'll take any questions you wanna throw my way. except about what's behind this sweater. the boys roar. mabel keeps her smile tight.
the story. behind it. of course.
well, how would any woman feel about some tart who steals her man? reporters furiously writing, more flashes explode.
bill stultz and i were going to make history together, until this poor little social worker and her sugar daddy, oh excuse me, `publisher,' started throwing money and i don't know what else at him.
i don't know, charlie, i never seen her. has she got any? laughter, they're all calling out. she shows them a smoky smile, but stays on message.
well, she had to use something on somebody to get from nowhere to here. you figure it out, or wait til george putnam feeds it to you. two dozen questions at once. she's not even listening.
we're going to canada, waiting for some good weather on the atlantic, and then we'll kick little miss whoozis in the keester.
rusty, we can carry enough fuel to go to china. that thing they're flying can't load enough gas to make yonkers. tell that to putnam's girlie. and while you're at it.  she snuggles the gleaming fox fur around her.
tell her i do wear silver. so i'm two up on her.