I put in a desperate call to Senorita Pita, The Countess of Provolone to her tasteful estate in Newport, RI; the request was simple: "Will you please come down here and take Bedelia off my hands?" "You can have her," she immediately replied. "She's out of control and no one can keep up with her. She's yours." So, that's that I guess. Countess Bedelia seems to have a full schedule ahead for us, one that entails cocktails, young boys, more cocktails, and more young boys. (It was reliably reported to me this morning that she spent a considerable fortune stuffing money down the underwear of the South American go-go boys at Twist last night.) She left me in dust, literally, the other night (well, it was really the beach sand). I couldn't have one more drink, but she wasn't ready to submit to nature and carried off Leopoldo to see Ditmar at Magnums. I just don't know where she gets this supernatural strength, but I suspect she bathes in the blood of virgins every morning. Well, actually she never really sees a morning; let's say "early afternoon".