I'm here to tell you, there ain't much forgiveness in that old-time religion. That particular savior was a mean son of a bitch. If you sinned, honey, he was going to get you, no doubt about it.

And the news got worse. It appeared that there was this whole other person Jesus Christ whose birthday a lot of people tended to confuse with mine. I was personally outraged. It was a long time before I forgave the Lord for that.

Hell, I suppose if you stick around long enough they have to say something nice about you.

So this was where lust was satisfied. If I'd been an old-time miner I'd have asked for my gold nugget back.

In one scene, when I was supposed to say, "In a pig's eye you are," what came out was, "In a pig's ass you are." Old habits die awfully hard.

Go fuck yourself," I replied, always the lady. "I'm staying here.

Great idea," I said. "Call the police. Call the fucking police.

Then, aided by the booze, like a fool I tossed off one of those throwaway lines that would have been better thrown away. "Ah, Frank! I thought you were going to be down here fucking Lana.

I caught his drift, but I wasn't going to argue for a single second. Just get me to the Hampshire House, that's all I cared about. Besides, how could I say, "No, I'm not a prositute. I'm Mrs. Frank Sinatra out for an early morning walk in the rain"?