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64 Cirque du Liz and Dick Puerto Vallarta Facing each other rather desperately— his eye is like a star— we stare and say, “Well, we have come this far.” She doesn’t like the lizards, strewn like dry white bones all over everything. Nor the way stiletto heels sink in the soft Moroccan tile that is ubiquitous. He drinks, and looks so bloody handsome. Who dya think he’ll make love to, Mrs. Burton— Sue Lyons or Ava Gardner? She feels discarded, fooling with her pearls in the reptile torpor of the Mexican Riviera. Key grips always booming away somewhere beyond the patio. He wants to be with her in London, eating lemon pies. He longs for the old delightful tracking down of gloves to match a blouse or just her drag queen whimsy. Here it’s all la vida no vale nada. Life is worth nothing. Part of her is sorry she became 65 “a public utility.” Part of him wants to do Hamlet again. But he feels closer to Claudius, marrying so quickly on top of the death of the other marriage. A woman is like glass, they say here: always in danger. Together, they’ve renamed the town “Seething”— They still have “that feeling of antenna”— a quivering contact with each other. Above her head she poses another spray of artificial roses, making him think of a novelty rodeo act he saw a very long time ago in Wales. ...

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