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rubbing the crotch of fat old dudes at receptions so they’ll sign fat checks to cure cancer? You know this is not going to happen, OK?”
    “While I might wish that you would find something useful to do, I have never asked that of you, have I? I just do not see why you insist on making a spectacle of yourself. Though I suspect it’s entirely to torment me, and that the twisted soul here is yours. Which is a shame because your mother was a fine woman.”
    To parry Grant’s thrust, all Purity had to do was smile. She knew it was a smile that reminded him of her mother, his gorgeous loving wife, before the cancer, back when she was young and healthy like Purity. She had taken a beautiful vestige of her mother’s and turned it into something malicious. It was the smile of spite.
    Crimson again, Grant wondered once more what he had done to deserve this legacy. Dixie was right, there was only one way out of this hell.
    “Bobbie, not everything is about you.” Of course, for Purity, everything was about him. Something was different, though; she could feel that she was truly getting to him in a way she never had before. There was something about the way that vein stood out on his forehead, and the dull look that entered his eyes. She was getting deeper, killing a part of his soul the way he had hers. “If you want to fuck me and pretend it’s my mother, just say so.”
    Grant went from crimson to ashen gray: He could take no more.
    “The lawyers will be here this afternoon, with a limo.”
    “Spiffy.”
    “Be dressed and sober, for God’s sake. You have a court hearing in town tomorrow morning, so will be staying overnight in Manhattan, at the Mandarin, and no, you don’t have a tab at the bar.” Grant stalked back toward the tennis courts, toward his helicopter.
    Purity sat up and removed her bikini top, exposing healthy young breasts that were like God’s own fruit. “Bub-bye, Bobbie!”
    He shot a glance back at her and marched away even faster.
    I’m actually winning, Purity thought. Yet what was the endgame? How did the war end? How would she finally break him and have him gone? Suicide? No matter that when he was gone, she would have no money at all and no place to live. Up until then, money in the form of her allowance had only been a weapon against her stepfather. If he were gone, she would have no need of that allowance. Fascinating, I think. Nobody would have guessed that she didn’t care about her father’s money or her trust fund. In fact, she hated that money as much as she did him.
    Purity removed her bikini bottom.
    Take a look at the “little cunt,” Bobbie.
    She lay back out on the lounger and waited for the helicopter to fly over her back to New York.
    Bobbie will never kill himself no matter what I do, and waiting for a fatal heart attack is taking forever. He has to go.
    But how?
    See, she did take the bikini off, though perhaps the removal of the bottom may have to be done tastefully and without too much detail. We have to do what we can to ensure our R rating.

CHAPTER
    FOUR
    THAT NIGHT, EVEN AS I was packing to come to New York, Robert Tyson Grant was in a swarm of penguins in a ballroom at the Grand Hyatt. He was attending a gala cocktail reception for a charity of some kind; he had forgotten which, and probably most of those in attendance would not accurately recall the next day. The checks were already written, so there was no need to remember. Men wore tuxedos, women gowns.
    Yes, I say penguins because the men wore tuxedos, but also because they were huddled close together murmuring to each other the way penguins do on the documentaries. It was as if they enjoyed the collective, self-reassuring sound they made as much as what they might have been saying of import to each other.
    I’m being figurative about these penguins, of course, but in the movie, perhaps we could cut in shots of penguins? I think an audience would understand.
    These charity events are not what many would imagine,