"Oh, come on, Phil. Does this place scream self-restraint to you?" He's seen enough of the Capitol to see the lavish parties, the fondue fountains in the middle of courtyards, the clothing made entirely of handstitched lace and beads. "I'm sure that was only scratching the surface of what people want to see from me, but that's the trick to being a celebrity and not just being a porn star. You always keep a little bit for yourself, some line no one gets to cross, certainly not the public."

There's a frankness with which she discusses sexuality that's almost boastful, and certainly artificial; she doesn't feel that brave in bed, but if she can step out of Delilah and into Venus, her secondary skin, she can pretend and sell it as if the sex she were selling were her own and not the construct of an audience.

"You're sweet." She reaches over and taps the top of his ear affectionately. "But I didn't save your life, so I'm the one who owes you."