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God, and she found herself actually quite thrilled that she was about to meet Debby Boone in person. That evening marked the debut of Dolls by Debby, and she very much looked forward to spending an enjoyable two hours presenting the (adorable) collectible porcelain dolls and showing video clip highlights of Ms. Boone’s extraordinary career.
    As Peggy Jean was leaving the cantina, she saw Trish Mission leaning over the water fountain in the hallway. “Trish, I just wanted to tell you how stunning that Royal Crystal tiara looked on you the other night during your England’s Rose show. It didn’t surprise me a bit that it sold immediately.”
    Trish rose from the water fountain and a drop of water fell from her lower lip. “Thank you so much, Peggy. I know, wasn’t it terrific! Everything except the ‘Always Wear a Seat Belt’ glitter brooch sold out, so it looks like I might do it again in a few months.”
    “Let’s keep our fingers crossed,” Peggy Jean called back as she walked down the hall.
    That was one show that she, herself, would have enjoyed hosting. Peggy Jean felt a special kinship toward the princess, as both women lived very public lives yet were successful mothers. They even shared a similar hairstyle. Although Diana had been divorced, Peggy Jean didn’t blame her in the least. It was perfectly clear to the world that her husband was an adulterer. And the princess had done all she could to keep the marriage alive, for the sake of the children. One had to respect that.
    “Debby?” she said, walking into the guest’s lounge.
    Debby Boone looked up from her Patricia Cornwell novel.
    Peggy Jean extended her hand and beamed. “Hi, I’m Peggy Jean Smythe and I’m going to be joining you on this evening’s show. I just wanted to welcome you to Sellevision and let you know what a huge fan of yours I am!”

    “A
    my, you were right, I must be losing my marbles,” Bebe said to herself as she sat at her computer, reading the responses to the personal ad she placed last week on America Online. Occasionally laughing out loud or shaking her head in disbelief, Bebe was slowly resigning herself to the fact that maybe this computer-dating thing hadn’t been such a great idea after all.
    One of the men had asked Bebe if she was capable of multiple orgasms. Another said that although he was a big man (385 pounds) he was still a very good person who deserved to be loved. Some guy even sent a nude picture of himself in the form of a JPEG file. Bebe had to admit that although that man did have an excellent body, there was no way she would ever consider meeting somebody who would send such a picture to a stranger.
    Rising from her chair and stretching, Bebe brought her coffee mug into the kitchen and made herself another cup of Lemon Zinger tea. Then it was back to the computer to read the last of her responses.
    Occasionally, Bebe would glance up from the computer and over to the small Sony Trinitron she kept on a bookshelf near her desk. Bebe had no less than five television sets in her condominium, and most were usually tuned to Sellevision, often—like now—with the sound muted.
    Peggy Jean was on with Debby Boone. She was laughing and placing her hand on Debby’s shoulder. The two seemed to really be hitting it off.
    More than ten men had responded to her personal ad, and out of these, so far exactly zero were contenders.
    Pepper walked into the room and Bebe reached down to scratch the dog’s back. “Looks like it’s just you and me, kiddo.” The dog licked her hand.
    Then Bebe read the last of the replies. The letter was from a man named Eliot who lived close by in Philly, forty-two, never married, the owner of a chain of dry cleaning establishments. When Bebe read this, she chuckled to herself, “How perfect for me, now I can dribble all the pasta sauce I want over myself and not have to worry about it.” As Bebe continued reading Eliot’s letter, she began to think that maybe she should write