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the project further martyred him.
    â€œDid you go to the screening at Zev’s last night?” asked Donny.
    Obie nodded, attacking the chef’s salad. “I have
never
laughed so hard in my
life.
I was
hemorrhaging
.”
    â€œWhat movie?” Phylliss had a mouth full of onion rings.
    â€œThe new Batman. It was horrible.”
    â€œLet’s cut to the chase,” Donny said. “Did you play Rim the Host?”
    â€œHe had the runs—how could we resist?” Phylliss laughed, and Obie lit up. “Can you smoke in here?”
    â€œCan
I
? No. Can
you
? Probably.”
    Just then, a waitress approached and said she’d have to put out her cigarette. Obie scowled at Donny while she stubbed it in a butter dish.
    â€œTold you,” he said.
    â€œAnyway, Moe—Trusskopf—started coming up with titles for porn movies. Mostly gay, of course.”
    â€œThis is so much more wholesome than I imagined.”
    â€œThere were all these categories and sub-genres…”
    â€œShe used the
S
word!” interjected Phylliss.
    â€œThe
S-G
word,” Donny added.
    â€œWe did movies:
Sleepless in the Saddle
…”
    Phylliss submitted
Forrest Rump
. Obie practically spit onto her plate, gratifying the producer.
    â€œWe went on for
hours
,” Obie said. “I
wish
I could remember—why didn’t I write them down? I am such a pig. We did this whole
music
thing. Mamas and Papas…‘California Reamin’—’”
    â€œNow we know why all the leaves are brown,” volunteered the agent.
    Obie guffawed and Phylliss took another shot: “‘Long Time Coming’?”
    â€œThat’s good,” said Obie, cordial and imperious, “but it’s the wrong group. You have to stay with the
group
.” The producer deflated.
    â€œI have the
best
,” Donny said, pausing dramatically.
“Thirty Days in the Hole.”
    Cachinations all around.
    â€œI
love
that. Then we got
literary
.”
    â€œA Hard Man Is Good to Find,”
offered the producer. She knew she had a winner.
    â€œOh my God!” said Big Star. “That is
so fantastic.
”
    â€œWait a minute,” said the agent, clinking a glass with his fork. “I have it. I have the
ultimate
.”
    â€œTell us.”
    â€œAre you ready?”
    â€œWe’re ready! Tell us!”
    â€œThe Catcher in the Y.”
    No one would top it. Obie exploded with glee.
    â€œI don’t get it,” said Phylliss.
    â€œYou’re so unhip,” said Donny, disgruntled.
    A handsome young man with five or six tiny hoops in each ear was led to their table—Phylliss’s assistant. He handed his boss a packet.
    â€œEric, you know Donny. Oberon, this is Eric, my guy Friday.”
    Obie gave him the lech. “We should put him in
Catcher in the Y.
”
    â€œBeen there, done that,” said Phylliss. “Right, Eric?”
    â€œIf you say so.” He smiled.
    She turned to Obie. “You’re an icon to him.”
    â€œIt’s a dirty job,” said Big Star, “but someone has to do it.”
    Phylliss raised an eyebrow at the loitering Eric, then sarcastically gave him his walking papers. “Well…we’d
love
it if you could stay but—”
    Eric adored Phylliss, and was used to her public paddlings. He smiled shyly, bowed his head then left.
    â€œThank you, Eric!” Phylliss called out musically.
    â€œCute,” said Obie.
    â€œHere’s the cassette,” said Phylliss, setting
Teorema
by Obie’s purse. “Latest draft’s in there too—the Grosseck draft.”
    â€œEfficient little fuck,” said Obie, looking Donny’s way.
    â€œI wouldn’t know,” he said. “But she
is
full-service.”
    They gossiped about people who were dying. Phylliss mentioned a friend, a screenwriter with AIDS who recently took a turn for the worse. Suddenly, he was getting