Myra-Breckinridge-Gore-Vidal

first response. "It would just kill her." "Of course I won't. Andof course I'll give a good report to Mr. Martinson, yourparole officer." He was startled. "You know him?" "Oh, yes,"I lied--actually I happened to come across a letter from himto Buck. "In fact, he's asked me to keep an eye on you, andI said I would." "I hope you tell him that I sure as hell amreformed." He was vehement. "I will--if you really are, andbehave yourself, and let me try to help you with yourproblem." "Of course I will, Miss Myra. You know that." Helooked entirely sincere, blue eyes round as a boy's.Perhaps he is an actor after all. "Now then, about yourback. I've talked to the chiropractor who will arrange for aspecial brace. He couldn't be here tonight but he asked meto take an exact tracing of your spine and then he'll knowwhat to do. So now if you'll just slip off that shirt, we'll get towork." Resignedly, he got to his feet. Automatically hishands went to his belt buckle in order to loosen it but then,obviously recalling our last encounter, he left the belt as itwas, pulling off the shirt with a certain arrogant ease. Thebelt just covered his navel; otherwise he was in exactly thesame state as he had been at the beginning of our firstsession. I was pleased that my visual recollection of himwas so precise. I remembered in exact detail the tracerydesign of bronze hair across the pale chest, as well as thesmall roselike inverted nipples. "Stand on the scales,please." I imitated the chilliest of trained nurses."Face tothe wall and we'll measure you." He put one foot on thescales, when I stopped him. "Take off those atrociouscowboy boots! They'll break the machine." "Oh, no they