“But where’d you see my films? And Joy’s? Your parents?” I don’t wanna mention the grandpeeps since they’re dead.

I don’t get a coherent reply. What I get is some sort of channel, and I know it’s coming before she even starts declaiming, it’s written all over her constricted face like her mind slipped into the wrong gear. “Your rigid strength!” K bellows like she was auditioning for a paper towel commercial. “You are beautiful! You are a hundred times beautiful! I stroke you with my loving hands, pink-nailed long fingers. I caress you! I adore you!”

“Oh, fuck,” G groans, “that’s The Love Book.”

“The what?” I ask.

“The Love Book. Lenore Kandel. Henry did it for you once. That ‘mindless cuntdeity’ shit?”

“But I thought that’s a big het thing.”

“It is. K here took out all the ‘cock’ parts. Or Henry did it for her.”