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SUSAN SONTA6
her eye. Finally she wondered if Mr. Obscenity had any trouble
getting listed in the telephone book.
"Pay attention," he barked, withdrawing from Miss Flatface,
turning on his side, and lightly dusting her torso with sugar.
"I am."
"Don't contradict me. You aren't."
"Well, what if I do think of other things? Who says I have
to
think about it all the time? Doesn't thinking spoil it anyway?"
"Look," he said, "this isn't a eurhythmic exercise, you know."
"Well, I don't know what that means," she said self-righteous–
ly, "but I know it isn't supposed to be hard labor either."
"Don't play innocent with me! I don't have all these people
parked here for nothing."
Above the buzzing of flies about her breasts, Miss Flatface sud–
denly tuned in on a chorus of raspy breathing coming from the other
end of the room. In the hallway, just outside the door, four
Air
Force lieutenants appeared to be playing bridge.
"I didn't see them," she protested.
Mr. Obscenity grunted.
"Honest, I didn't."
"I bet you were a fussy eater when you were a kid," muttered
Mr. Obscenity.
"No, really-"
Mr. Obscenity replaced the pillow. Miss Flatface resigned her–
self to pleasure. She would ask her questions another time.
4.
"How do you like this life?" Mr. Obscenity deigned to inquire
one afternoon in a muffled voice, while nuzzling between
Mis.
Flatface's legs.
"Gosh," she exclaimed, "I never imagined life could be like
this!"
"Want to continue to live like this?" he asked.
"Sure!" Since childhood, Miss Flatface had always said "Sure!"
when she wasn't. "Who'd want to live different? I can hardly
imagine it," she went on, with a tremor of anxiety at this untimdy
chain of consecutive words.
"Ah, my dear," sighed Mr. Obscenity sitting upright amid the
