"All I ve learned about women is that whatever it is .they<br >want it s what I don t have，" I said， to see what kind.of rise<br >it would get.<br > "Don t have it--never had it--can t get it，" I added， a<br >little portentously.<br > I was talking， as usual， mostly to hear myself talk.<br >Declarations of that nature cut no ice with my companion，<br >and I knew it. She was cradling a coffee cup in her hands<br >and looking out the window of the restaurant. For all<br >practical purposes， she was absentma woman enjoying her<br >coffee--but that was all right. It was Sunday noon， a time<br >when almost everyofie in Hollywood might be described as<br >absent. Probably the health freaks were out， chasing one<br >another around West~ood， but they didn t count. The true<br >lotus-eaters were still in their mansions and bungalows， in<br >the hazy hills， languid from all-night drinking， all-night<br >doping， and all-night TV. Some few of them may even have<br >got fucked， from what one hears， but I couldn t bet on it. By<br >noon they would have begun to grope around in their vast<br >beds， flopping their limbs now and then， blank， spiritless，<br >and slothlike， hoping the phone would ring and summon<br >them back to life. Before the first phone call not many of<br >them would be able to vouch for their own existence， but<br >once the little bell begins to jingle they soon take heart. In<br >an hour or two most of them will be up and about， ready to<br >choke down some more lotus.<br > Jill kept looking out at the Sunset Strip， which was white<br >with noon sunlight and a little blurry with smog. I pointed<br >my fork at her， meaning to generalize further about the<br >impossibilities of women， but before I could swallow the<br > 9<br ><br >