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here? People come, and they stay for a while; and Axel gets stronger. And stronger. And stronger. And I mean, this has all been going on for like a thousand years. Not here, not in this building, but—you know how everyone thinks this is the age of Aquarius? Well, that’s only part of it. That is the tip of the iceberg —”
    Abruptly she turned and began rooting in her bag, loosening the drawstring ties and poking inside. “Where is it? God, I can never find anything —I hate this!” she cried, and upended the whole thing.
    An astonishing array of objects poured onto the floor. Matchbooks, Lucite bracelets, gold hoop earrings, crushed and uncrushed cigarette packs, a spiral notebook, a pink rosary, innumerable pill bottles, a silver flask, drinking straws, loose change and rolled-up bills, an address book held together with rubber bands, wads and wads of newspaper clippings. I stared, amazed, but the girl just made an impatient noise and swept most of it to one side. Very delicately she picked through a tiny heap of dust and loose pills, choosing a black capsule and popping it into her mouth. Then she took the newspaper clippings and began smoothing them out on the floor.
    NURSERY HATCHES STRANGE MONSTERS, OBSCENITY SUIT
    FUROR OVER “SCAG” OPENING: “THIS IS THE FUTURE OF FILM,” DIRECTOR KERN ATTESTS
    GIRL & BOY TOGETHER: PRECIOUS BANE COWS ‘EM AT CANNES
    I craned my neck at the flashlit image of Axel Kern escorting a coy, heavily made-up blonde past a police barricade, but the girl shoved these pages back into her bag.
    “Here,” she said, stabbing at the single curling column that remained. “Read this.”
TRIUMPH OF THE DIONYSIAN SPIRIT
    Hollywood monarch turned “underground” filmmaker Axel Kern makes Art out of Life—or is that vice versa?
    The recent screening of his controversial “The Savage God Awakes” brought to mind the furor a few years back when Kenneth Anger’s “Lucifer Rising” was all the rage. But Anger never claimed that his hocus pocus actually works.
    Axel Kern does.
    Press releases touting the verisimilitude of a sequence wherein two teenage “chicks” ritually dismember a live goat brought down the wrath of the American Humane Society and ASPCA. But nobody seemed overly worried about the chicks, whose monokinis (designed by Kern’s pal Rudi Gernreich) might pass muster at bohemian Malibu Beach but definitely shocked ’em onscreen—and off. NY society deb Caresse Hardwick (“Kissy” in the film credits) raised a few eyebrows at the La Tartine party afterward with her comment that “if the Beatles were bigger than Jesus, well then Axel is way bigger than God.” The party’s menu, catered by Les Trois Freres, went largely untouched as…
    I stared at the accompanying photo, shot a surreptitious glance at the girl beside me. It was the same person, though in the picture her hair was silver and not black, her face immaculately made up, and her slim form clad in a white dress that glowed like a fluorescent tube. I read the caption.
FILM DIRECTOR BIGGER THAN GOD, OPINES DEB SUPERSTAR
    “That’s the joke, get it?” Kissy Hardwick nudged me. She licked her lips again. “He’s not bigger than God. He is God.”
    I didn’t say anything. I was only twelve years old, but at this point even I knew that this girl was nuts. Worse than nuts, she was on drugs—I’d seen her swallow that little black pill, and god only knew what else had already made its way from her magic bag of tricks into her mouth. I looked at the floor, trying to think of how I could leave, wondering if I could just bolt, when she grabbed my wrist.
    “Tonight.” Beneath the thin fabric of her dress her breasts moved, and one pink nipple poked out through a hole. She was breathing too fast, her head nodding crazily. “Tonight tonight tonight. December 21. The winter solstice. Get it, do you get it? And I’m ready, I’m all ready for it to happen…”
    I tried to pull away, but her grasp only