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ACT II, SCENE SIX

“ ‘On the day she painfully fried to death,’ ”I read in voice-over, “ ‘my beloved Katherine Kentonenjoyed a luxuriant bubble bath.’ ”

As with previous final-chapter sequences readaloud from Love Slave,we see the younger, idealized versions of Miss Kathie and the Webb,cavorting upon her bed, in a soft-focus, misty version of her boudoir.In voice-over, I continue reading as the fantasy couple leave theirlovemaking and stride, slow, trancelike, long-legged into the bedroom’sadjoining bathroom.

“‘As was her custom,’ ” reads my voice, “‘subsequent to strenuous oral contact with my romantic meat shaft,Katherine rinsed her delicate palate with a mouthful of eau de cologneand applied chips of glistening ice to her slender, traumatized throat.

“‘As I opened the taps,’ ” continues thevoice-over, “ ‘filling her sunken, pink-marble tub with frothy steamingwater, I added the bath oil, and dense mounds of lather billowed. As Ireadied these luxuriant ablutions, my dearest Katherine said, “Webster,my darling, the pints of love essence you erupt at the peak of oralpassion taste more intoxicating than gorging on even the richestEuropean chocolate.” My beloved belched demurely into her fist,swallowed and said, “All women should taste your delicious emissions.” ’”

The soft-focus, idealized Miss Kathie shutsher violet eyes and licks her lips. The fantasy couple kiss, then break theirembrace.

“ ‘Lowering her silken sensual legs withinfinite care,’ ” I read in voice-over, “ ‘Katherine immersed herspattered thighs, her acclaimed pubis descending into the scaldingclouds of iridescent white. The hot liquid lapped at her satinybuttocks, then splashed at her silken bustline. The misty vaporsswirled, perfume filling the sultry bathroom air.’ ”

My own voice continues, reading, “ ‘It wasthe year every other song on the radio was Mitzi Gaynor singing “On theAtchison, Topeka and the Santa Fe,” and a large RCA radio satconveniently near the edge of the pink-marble bathtub, its dial tuned toplay romantic ballads, and its sturdy electrical cord plugged into aconvenient wall socket.’ ”

We get an insert shot of said radio, balancedon the tub’s rim, so close that steam condenses in sweaty droplets onthe radio’s wooden case.

“ ‘In addition,’ ” continues my voice, “ ‘anattractive assortment of electric lamps, each equipped with subdued,pink-tinted bulbs, their flattering light filtered by beaded shades,these also stood around the rim of the luxurious bubble bath.’ ”

A slow panning shot reveals a forest oflamps, short and tall, balanced on the wide rim of the oversize tub. Ablack tangle of power cords snake from the lamps to wall outlets. Manyof these thick cords, almost pulsing with electric current, look frayed.

“ ‘Sinking up to her slender neck in thefragrant foaming bubbles,’ ” continues the voice- over, “ ‘Katherinereleased a contented moan. At that moment of our inestimable happiness,playing the lovely Grand Waltz Brilliant by Frédéric Chopin, the radio slipped from itsperilous perch. Just by accident, all the various lamps also tumbled,plunging deep into the inviting waters, poaching my beloved alive likean agonized, screaming, tortured egg.…’ ”

On camera the perfumed foam boils, billowing,rising to mask the flashing, sizzling death scene. My voice reads, “‘The end.’ ”