”“I try.” His eyes explored her features. She was stunningly gorgeous, early twenties, with perfectly smooth skin. Like the other women he had s...en, she could’ve passed for a Miss America contestant.“Are you a dancer?” Having noticed she was wearing an evening dress instead of stripper attire, he thought he’d ask that question anyhow just to study her response. “I can do that if you wish?”“Oh?”“I’m your host for the evening. I can dance in here for you. I can accompany you to the casino,” she. Then he started laughing. '' Did you put that there? It's a fucking tattoo!'' Nobody got themselves tattooed in1965, certainly no women who weren't in a carnival or prison. I looked around. Carole was standing next to the bed, with a big grin. ''Amy gave you a little present the other day when she gave you that white tail feather. Can I read it to you?'' I didn't know quite what to say. ''Sure, what the fuck is it?'' ''You know how letters look when they are printed with a typewriter? It's in. Need, or accident, or emergency, or something; but I made a resolution to keep my mouth shut about things that happened to me that didn't make it on TV. The hard and unpleasant fact was that what my family and friends didn't know couldn't hurt them or me; while things they did know — might, regardless of intentions, good or otherwise. I hated this, but it seemed to be something else that went with the job.Besides, I had already started writing all this down for posterity and to have a private. She turned away and pretended to look into a shop window. I could see that she was keeping a wary eye on me in the window’s reflection. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, her whole stance everything about the way she carried herself was my Rebecca. Then at last, I came to my senses and turned away. There was no way this child could be Becky, it was just a trick of the mind. I walked down the road glancing back on occasions. Yes, she was still there and every time I looked, I saw Becky. I felt.