“Is that the best you can do?” he said. “The only way you’ll ever have a creative bone in your body is if you get fucked by an artist.”God d...mn that fucking son of a bitch! I’d written three books and volumes of poetry. I had a degree in playwriting. And awards. And he has the goddamn gall to challenge my creativity! I could feel my stomach tying itself into a knot. It had always been like this. Even my first ex-wife had poo-poohed my goal of getting a degree in playwriting and wanted me to. She patted her abdomen and said, “My stomach feels empty, already.”By the time Betsy finally announced that she was no longer hungry, the entire staff had watched her consume an inhuman quantity of food. It was almost like watching a hotdog eating contest.Patting her stomach, Betsy said, “I really needed that. Well, I’m going swimming.”Everyone watched her head out the door. She ran off without a single glance back. There was stunned silence in the kitchen.Finally, Gary announced, “I guess. More

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