"I'm really glad all of you could come for tomorrow's big doings," Caroline said with graciousness once she had mounted the platform, mostly occupied by a country-western band, to address the crowd gathered in the warm air of an August evening in Texas. "And I want to give a special welcome to a woman who has only attended one roast but has already decided to become one of us..."

Callie could barely restrain herself from shouting out, "Hey! Not so fast!! I haven't agreed to anything!" She stopped herself because she didn't want to do anything to spoil Caroline's big weekend. Was this some kind of trap? Was she being put in an impossibly awkward position? Had Maxwell put Caroline up to this?

She looked to Hank, wanting to express her consternation, but Hank only shook his head and made a one-handed "calm down" gesture.

"Amy," Caroline continued, looking at a red-headed woman a few feet to Callie's left, "when you missed Dee Dee's Big Day last month, I was afraid I'd never see you again. I'm really glad that you could make it and I hope you have a great time and a good meal."

Callie breathed a sigh of relief that she had not embarrassed herself and Caroline both. I've got to quit thinking of myself as the center of attention, she told herself. This really isn't all about me.

"I'm also glad to see Nadine here. Her Big Day is next month in Vermont and I know she hopes she'll see all of you then. Nadine, this is your last chance to pick up some spit-riding pointers," Caroline joked, "so I'll expect to see you taking notes tomorrow."

"I'm going to take a copy of the video home with me and study it," a tall dark-haired woman right in front of the platform shouted loud enough for all to hear.

"And finally," Caroline said, "I'm especially glad to see a woman here that I only met last month. Callie, put your hand up so that everyone can see who you are. If you all get to know Callie, I'm sure you'll agree with what Dee Dee said about her: 'She's really something.' "

Callie did as requested and people turned to look at her while chuckling at the reference to Dee Dee's tag line.

"Well, everybody kick back and relax and enjoy yourselves. Dance like nobody's watching and work up a big appetite for tomorrow. I hope I get a chance to spend at least a few minutes with each of you, but if I miss anybody, I want you all to know that I love you all and, again, I'm glad you came." With a cheerful wave, Caroline left the platform to round of applause as the band resumed playing.

Callie really chastized herself for jumping to the conclusion that Caroline had mentioned her first. That bit of conceit was completely counter to the resolution she had set for herself for the weekend. She had been so overwhelmed by the attention she had received the previous month at Dee Dee's Big Day that she hadn't taken much notice of the members of the sisterhood of roasters (except for Caroline) and how they interacted with the members of the diners' club. Callie suspected that, once a woman was securely on the menu, perhaps she was taken for granted. She had noted some dominant/submissive aspects to the relationships between the sponsors and their proteges. The proteges supposedly enjoyed lives of complete luxury with their every whim being catered to while they were being groomed for the spit. So, were the proteges contract slaves or were they priestesses receiving adoration? Did individual relationships fall all along the spectrum? Or did she completely misunderstand the situation? Were neither the "dinners" or the "diners" in control?

Apparently not everybody came to every event. Anthony and Anthea were not in attendance this month, but all of the other members of the syndicate formed for sponsorship of Callie were present. She knew that Guy would be expecting a response to his proposition this weekend, but she had made it clear that she wouldn't be accepting or rejecting anything until after seeing her first spit roasting and that wouldn't happen until tomorrow. Tonight she was still an object of culinary courtship.

"Care to dance?" Hank asked.

Not being a big country music fan, Callie hadn't expected to recognize any of the band's repertoire, but they did happen to be playing a tune familiar to her.

"Sure," she said, letting Hank take her in his arms as the band's female vocalist began to croon:

" 'Evening, creeping down the mountain,
" 'Wakes up Mr. Firefly.
" 'Bullfrog, sittin' there,
" 'Starts a-croaking, but I don't care,
" 'Since I kissed my baby good-bye.' "

Dancing with someone she knew (as opposed to casual encounters in bars) put Callie in mind of Mark. She hadn't seen him since her visit to California, which had been over a year ago, though they did catch each other online every now and then. She wondered what Mark would think of her current flirtation with the woman eaters. Mark had always been accepting, though sometimes with reservations, of whatever decisions Callie made - and even she herself had to admit that she had done some very odd things. It was rare to find a man who would be as non-judgmental as Mark. As much as she enjoyed Hank's companionship in every way, she hoped she had not kissed Mark good-bye forever.

The singer continued.

" 'South wind shakes the old magnolias.
" 'Moonman lights the dingy sky.
" 'Stars start sprinklin' gold
" 'On the river, but still I'm cold,
" 'Since I kissed my baby good-bye.' "

Callie and Hank had arranged their schedules so that Hank was able to pick her up at the Houston airport and drive her to the motel where they had made a reservation. Maxwell had offered Callie hospitality and, for all she knew, he had probably offered to put Hank up, too, even though he didn't have as many guest rooms as Guy, but Callie didn't want to be any more beholden to the diners' club members than necessary. Her position was not as yet carved in stone, but she was pretty sure that she would be turning down Guy's proposition and she didn't want to give the appearance of trying to milk the situation for all it was worth. Callie thought it was very likely that, following Caroline's roast, she would be saying good-bye to this whole scene.

She swayed in Hank's arms as the singer finished the song.

" 'Since my baby and me
" 'Parted company,
" 'I can't see what's the diff
" 'If I live or I die.
" 'Oh, Lord, I'm takin' such a beatin',
" 'I'm no good, even cheatin',
" 'Since I kissed my baby good-bye.' "

As exciting as she found the desire she felt from the men and women who looked at her body as meat, she suspected that the novelty would wear off - and if it didn't, it was even better that she remove herself from the scene. It had been interesting, intriguing even, but it was something that she should turn her back on before she became addicted to it. She considered addiction to be a weakness, and, if she allowed it to develop, it could be the hook Guy and his cohorts could use to snare her. She had to say good-bye while she was still able.

She found herself hoping that she wouldn't also be saying good-bye to Hank when she took leave of the proteges and the diner's club.

She had no way of knowing that something was about to happen that would make it almost certain that she wouldn't be able simply to walk away from this odd subculture.

"I bet you can't guess what it was that kept me around after I had pretty much decided to call it quits," Callie challenged Colonel Stoneridge.

"A wager?" The Colonel was amused. "I rather enjoy making wagers, especially when I am confident, but not absolutely sure, that I will win. I accept." He picked up one of his notebooks, wrote something on a page, tore it out, folded it, and laid it on the ground before Callie. "There's my guess as to what happened that made it almost impossible for you to withdraw completely from your association with these people. I'm willing to wager a hundred pounds that I'm correct. May I make a suggestion as to what you might put up for your stake?"

"Of course." Callie knew that the Colonel was a gentleman.

"I have a garden," Stone said. "I believe that women have a special touch when it comes to nature. Considering that you are from the heartland of your great nation, I would think you might be very gifted when it comes to such things. Would you be willing to help me out by spending an afternoon working in my garden?"

Callie laughed, thinking, You old fox! "Yes, I'll spend an afternoon working in your garden. But let's make your stake twenty pounds, because I haven't got that much of a green thumb."

"If you wish," the Colonel agreed.

"But, on the other hand," Callie said, laughing even more, "you can really impress me and offer to stake a thousand pounds against an afternoon's work, because we both already know that I've lost the bet."

The Colonel smiled as Callie continued her story.

When the music stopped and Callie and Hank ended their embrace so that they could applaud, Caroline stepped up to them with another woman in tow.

"Hi, Callie. I really am glad you came."

"I'm glad to be here," Callie responded. "I wanted very much to thank you in person for the note that you sent me - and for the dress."

"I was sure you would appreciate the note," Caroline said, knowingly. "As for the dress, it will take some growing into."

"That or a couple rolled up pairs of socks," Callie joked, then looked at the woman who was with Caroline.

"Callie, I'd like to introduce you to Nadine. I mentioned that her Big Day is set for next month."

"Pleased to meet you, Nadine." Callie extended her hand, which was warmly grasped.

"Glad to meet you, too." Nadine was only an inch or so shorter than Callie and, though she was nowhere near as plump as Dee Dee, she was very well filled out. Callie recalled seeing her at the Noffager estate in the company of the New Englander who was a part of the intended syndicate. "I wonder if I could talk with you for a few minutes." She was nervous and looked at Hank as much as at Callie when she spoke.

"Do you want to talk to both of us or just me?" Callie asked.

"Uh, just you," Nadine replied, with puzzled unease.

Callie was tempted to chastize her for looking at Hank as though he owned her, but decided, Hey, this woman will be dead in a month. No point giving her a hard time or trying to change her attitudes at this late date. "Sure," Callie said.

"Can we go someplace private?" Nadine looked hopefully to Caroline.

"I'll take you where you won't be disturbed," Caroline said, taking both their hands and smiling at Hank, who smiled back.

Callie had no idea what was going on. Her best guess, based on the fact that Hank's drawings had made him a great favorite with the proteges, was that maybe Nadine wanted to spend some quality time with him and thought she needed to check with Callie first.

The place Caroline led them to was a bench surrounded on three sides by shrubbery, shielding it from the dance area.

"This won't be quite as much privacy as you and I had at Guy's last month, but it should do." Caroline kissed Callie on the cheek and left.

As soon as they were seated on the bench, Nadine grabbed Callie's hand with a sense of urgency, saying, "Caroline and Dee Dee both said that you're a good person and that you're, well, reliable."

"I'm glad to hear that. So?"

"Callie, I want your help."

At once, Callie's mind began to race. Nadine wanted to be rescued, taken out of here, saved from the spit. Callie wished she had driven rather than flown to Texas. Maybe she could talk Hank into letting her "steal" his car - he could feign ignorance and maintain his status within the group. Maybe she shouldn't tell him why she wanted his car - leave him innocent. She could head north for a while, as though she were taking Nadine home with her, then turn west and take the fugitive roaster to California. Mark could put both of them up for a while. Better yet, they could go to R. Kiver - Callie felt he was connected in ways that put him out of the reach of even men like Guy and Maxwell. It would be rough, but they could make it.

"Sure," Callie said, trying to convey strength, determination, and resourcefulness. "What do you need?"

"It's about my thighs."

"Huh?"

"Franklin - he's my, well, sponsor - he said that, if you join us, sign a contract and all, well, part of the deal might be..."

"Your thighs?"

"Yeah." Nadine lowered her head. "Franklin said you might be like sort of a coach for us girls. You're so fit and so trim and muscular and I know it took you a lifetime to get that way and I've only got a month, but..."

"Nadine, I'm an athlete - or used to be one - but I'm not a certified personal trainer," Callie tried to explain.

Nadine had been nervous and tentative, but now she broke down and started crying. Callie could tell she wasn't faking it.

"Please, Callie! You're my only hope. I don't want to run a marathon. I don't want to be a swimsuit model. All I want to do is look good on the spit."

Callie took the sobbing woman in her arms "Nadine, all women look beautiful on the spit - or so I'm told; I haven't actually seen any. I'm sure Hank's drawn pictures of you and you look beautiful in them, don't you?"

"Well, sure. But those are still pictures." More sobbing. "I just know that when I'm on the spit, everybody will be looking at my flabby thighs as I rotate and quiver."

"I'm not a professional. Surely, Franklin could hire someone..."

"I need someone who understands what it feels like to enjoy being looked at as meat. It's not about fitness like for an athlete or dancer. It's about looking tasty, being something woman-eaters want to sink their teeth into. When I'm on the spit, I want to feel like I'm the most beautiful, flawless, delicious-looking thing they've ever seen. I want to feel their hunger, their desire making me feel warmer than the coals. You know what that feeling can do to a woman. You understand it. Caroline said you do."

"She was right. I do," Callie confirmed.

"Well, then you know how important it is, don't you? And you'll help, won't you?" Desperate pleading.

Callie looked into Nadine's sad brown eyes, thinking This woman's going to die next month. She's giving her life in order to fulfill a fantasy and to provide pleasure for others and she doesn't want to be suffering embarrassment at the moment she dies. She wants to face her death with confidence and high self-esteem. Even if this Franklin fellow suggested this to her and is trying to play me by playing her, her pain and fear are real. She's afraid she'll miss out on the biggest thrill of her life at a time when she'll be helpless to do anything about it. Fuck Franklin.

"I'll do what I can," Callie promised.

"Thank you!" Nadine covered her with kisses of gratitude.

"Someone asked you for help" was what Callie read when she unfolded the paper Colonel Stoneridge had placed at her feet.

"You know me pretty well," Callie said. "I'll report for gardening duty next Wednesday. Should I bring anything?"

"I don't think I have a pair of gloves that would fit you," the Colonel said.

"I'll pick some up tomorrow." Callie's respect for this man was increasing. She was aware that he was someone she should listen to.

She continued her story.

Calm, tranquil, serene - those were the adjectives that first came to Callie's mind the next afternoon when she saw Caroline parading naked before the people who were about to watch her die and then eat her.

Of course, Caroline's tranquility was somewhat drug-induced, but Callie didn't know exactly how much of it was a matter of better dying through chemistry. Callie did know, though, that anesthesiologists were capable of remarkable things. Granny Bess had described her preparation for her cataract surgery to Callie.

"If somebody had told me that I'd be able to lie there as calmly as if I was only having my hair dyed while somebody stuck a knife right into my eye, I'd have said, 'Baloney!' You know that you're wide awake during the whole thing, don't you? And it's not as if you can look at something else to take your mind off what's going on. But, with that happy medicine the doctor gave me, I could have gone over Niagara Falls in a teacup without a safety belt and not had a care in the world."

There was a dreamy, detached non-inflection to Caroline's voice as she pressed Callie's hand between both of her own and said, "I'm so glad you came and I'm so glad that I got to know you."

"It's been nice knowing you, too, Caroline." Callie didn't want to get maudlin, but did want to say something meaningful. "I'll never forget last month at Guy's."

"Me, neither. I'll remember it for the rest of my life." It was a deliberate joke and, while Caroline didn't go into hysterical laughter, she did giggle for about ten seconds longer than seemed natural. "Enjoy yourself. Enjoy me."

"I will. Good luck." Callie watched Caroline go on to the next person in line, thinking that "Good luck" was an odd thing to say under the circumstances, but decided it wasn't totally inappropriate: there were probably plenty of things that could go wrong.

Caroline certainly looked beautiful. Her hair, which had been shoulder-length only the night before, was trimmed to no more than one inch. As for body hair, she had been completely depilated. Tan lines that Callie could not help but notice when they made had love had vanished.

Such a beautiful body, Callie thought. How many women do I know who would think they had it made if they looked like that? And she's bright and sensitive and sensual and fun to be with and - and she's going to give it all up!

Her thoughts were interrupted by her new best friend, Nadine, coming up beside her, saying, "I don't expect to look that good. I just want to..."

"I know, Nadine. You are going to be beautiful, though."

"I talked to Franklin this morning and he's really glad you're going to help me. In fact, since he plans to be one of your sponsors, he says you could just move in and stay on with him after my..."

"Uh, yeah. I should talk to him about that before he... Maybe we could all get together."

"Oh, he wants to talk to you, too. In fact, we could do that now, but Caroline's spitting is going to start in just a few minutes."

"And you want to watch?"

"Sure. A lot of us girls do, especially those of us whose numbers are about to come up. Since I'm next on the menu, I almost have to be there - it's a sort of tradition."

"Can anybody watch?"

"Oh, yeah! In fact, Caroline told me to tell you that, even though you aren't officially one of us yet, you're welcome to come. She wanted to tell you herself, but she was afraid she might forget in all the excitement."

That and the drug-induced haze, Callie thought.

"Do you wanna come with me?" Nadine asked.

"Yes. I think I should."

"Well, come on." Nadine took Callie's hand. "Caroline's just about finished saying her farewells. I can explain things to you."

Nadine led Callie into a tent that measured about fifteen by twenty feet. In the center of the tent was a large surgical table, covered with a white sheet equipped with many restraints. In the middle of the table, running half its length, was a chain conveyor belt. The belt ran some four feet beyond the table and terminated at a machine that looked like the power end of a lathe. The belt and machine seemed clearly intended for inserting the spit. Callie looked around for the spit itself, but didn't see it.

"That's a modified MRI scanner." Nadine pointed to a high-tech-looking metal shell suspended over the table. "It helps guide the spit past the heart and lungs. Franklin was the one who bought it, but he lets everybody use it. Before they had it, I guess every once in while a woman wouldn't make it through the spitting and that was real disappointing, especially for her."

"I can imagine," Callie said, trying to keep her voice as free from humor and irony as Nadine's.

"Some of the women are gutted and stuffed before they're spitted, but Caroline didn't want that and I don't blame her because - oh, here they come now."

Maxwell was holding Caroline's hand tenderly as they entered the tent. Their manner suggested to Callie comparisons with a father about to give his daughter away in marriage. The couple was followed by an entourage consisting of ten or so proteges (a little more than half those at the event) and a few men, including Guy, Franklin (who was carrying the ten-foot long spit), and Hank. Callie was especially glad to see Hank and held out her hand for him to take.

Caroline still had a dreamy look about her, but she was not unsteady on her feet and she mounted the table without assistance. Her sorority sisters immediately took charge of strapping her in place, Nadine seeing to it that a yoke fit comfortably around Caroline's neck. Her legs were strapped in a position that reminded Callie of the beginning of a frog kick used in swimming. Folded towels were placed beneath Caroline to make her spine as straight as possible, then three broad straps consisting of layers of tightly woven cotton fabric were placed over her back and secured. Her upper arms were similarly strapped down, but her lower arms and hands were left free.

Throughout the process of rendering her torso immobile, Caroline's sisters asked if she was comfortable, if anything was too tight, if she could breathe easily, if she wanted a drink of water. To bystander Callie, it all appeared very loving and very deadly.

While Caroline was being secured, Franklin was positioning the spit on the track and affixing it to the lathe-like machine. The one-inch diameter spit was carved from hardwood (Callie guessed hickory) and rounded on the end with very slender slit through which a razor-sharp blade could be extended and retracted. The first six-inches appeared solid except for three through-holes, and the next two and a half feet were hollow and slotted. Callie assumed the purpose of this part of the design was to allow Caroline to breathe. The next section of the spit appeared solid and ribbed, obviously to provide stimulation as it entered. Where Callie estimated that Caroline's vagina would be when the spit was fully inserted, the ribbing changed from rings around the circumference of the spit to ridges running length-wise for about a foot, after which the spit was smooth, except for another series of through-holes. Callie was puzzled by the change in the ribbing pattern, but she later learned that the spit was not a single solid piece of wood, but rather three separate pieces. The middle section with the length-wise ribbing contained a planetary gear mechanism that caused it to rotate in the opposite direction from the two ends, thus providing stimulation for the roaster.

When the sisters had finished their work, the MRI scanner was lowered into place and Maxwell bent down and asked Caroline in a soft voice:

"Are you sure?"

Callie thought this was probably a mere formality and wondered if any woman ever said, "Fuck no! Get me the hell out of here!" Even if that had never happened before, Callie thought this would be an excellent time to start.

No such luck.

"Yes," Caroline said simply.

Maxwell stood up, placed his hand on Caroline's arm and nodded to Franklin.

For the second time in two months, Callie was about to witness the killing of a woman she liked (and, given different circumstances, could have loved) and she wasn't doing anything to stop it.

She kept telling herself, This is what Caroline wants. She's fulfilling a fantasy. Do I have the right to come between a woman and her fantasy? Probably not, but maybe I could have tried to interest her in a different fantasy - like having grandchildren someday - or just going to her ten-year high school reunion.

Nadine was kneeling in front of Caroline and they were chatting. Their voices were too low to be heard, but both of the were smiling.

The spit was apparently not the first thing to enter Caroline. Franklin was approaching her with what looked like a pistol with a ten-inch barrel from which a very short needle protruded.

Callie nudged Hank and nodded toward Franklin and the "pistol."

"That's a pretty clever gizmo," Hank explained. "The needle delivers a high-powered shot of Novocain and then a laser beam cuts a small hole for the spit. It's about as painless as possible."

"Franklin's about to give you a shot," Maxwell informed Caroline.

"Okay." Caroline then made a sound of pleasure as Franklin parted her nether lips and inserted the barrel.

Waiting for Franklin's nod, Maxwell said, "If there's going to be any pain, it's going to be right... now."

Caroline winced just a little, but then said, "Piece of cake."

Franklin withdrew the "pistol" and sat down at a control panel where he could observe the MRI screen and control the movement of the spit. He nodded at Maxwell again.

"Here comes the choo-choo," Maxwell said.

"The tunnel's open," Caroline replied, then sighed as the blunt end of the spit entered her.

It seemed surrealistic to Callie, watching this incredibly long thing enter the woman she had made love to only a month before. It just kept going in and in and in. It was like a magic trick. There was a broad smile on Caroline's face as she whispered to Nadine what she was feeling. Callie could not help but feel a sympathetic tingle as she imagined the physical sensation the spit was causing. She noticed that proteges were not shy about expressing the excitement, many of them noticeably rubbing their legs together. As for the men present, the sight of a beautiful woman being penetrated by a long shaft was causing them a very pleasant discomfort.

The progress of the spit was, for the most part, steady, though Franklin would occasionally stop and change the angle a degree or two before proceeding.

Callie noticed that her grip on Hank's hand had become very tight by the time Maxwell, having received another signal from Franklin, said:

"Okay, Caroline. Time to stop talking and take as deep a breath as you can and hold it."

Caroline blinked her eyes and said, "This is it!" and then did as she was told.

Nadine gave her a quick kiss and backed away.

The spit made a jerky forward thrust.

Caroline's eyes opened wide.

Then her mouth opened and the end of the spit, only a little bloody, came out.

And kept coming and coming and coming.

Which could also describe the reaction of some of the proteges to the scene.

As for Callie, she found the sight of naked Caroline plenty arousing in itself, but seeing her like this added something. Caroline was still alive, still a person, still Caroline, but she was also now "something on a stick." The phrases "someone on a stick" and "somebody on a stick" were grammatically correct, but jarring to the mind. "Things" could be "on sticks," but not "people." The fact that Caroline had a stick through her made it legitimate to think of her as a thing, an object, and, in a way, that made it easier to look at her with pleasure and desire. There was sometimes guilt involved in deriving pleasure from someone without giving anything in return. But a person did not have to apologize to an object for the feelings one had about it or even explain those feelings.

Caroline was a beautiful thing on a stick. She looked delicious, too. Callie felt no need to put a damper on her feelings of arousal.

Caroline stared in wide-eyed wonder at the pole protruding from her mouth. She seemed so fixated on it that Maxwell felt compelled to as if everything was all right.

She responded by slowly closing and then opening her eyes - apparently an affirmative sign.

"Can you breathe?" Maxwell asked, signaling to Franklin to raise the scanner.

Again the affirmative slow blink and, once the scanner was removed, everyone could see her upper torso expand and contract.

Caroline's sisters went to work releasing her from the table and securing her to the spit. Pegs were inserted into a hole at the anterior end of the spit and another at the posterior end. The pegs were used as crossbars to which Caroline's wrists and ankles were lashed with strips of leather. Again, she was asked if everything was comfortable and she gave a positive response.

Maxwell and Guy picked up the front of the spit and Franklin and Hank took the rear end. With gentleness, they lifted her off the table and bore her out of the tent. Proteges walked beside Caroline, stroking and petting her - two women fondled her breasts. Wanting to participate, Callie laid a hand on her right calf, noticing that the spitted woman was wiggling her hips, probably stimulating herself on the ridges in the spit.

All the barbeque attenders who had not been inside the tent broke into applause when they saw dinner being carried to the pit filled with hot coals. There were spontaneous shouts of praise.

"Beautiful!"

"Outstanding!"

"What a feast!"

"Never saw anything look so tasty!"

"Caroline, you really did it!"

"I want to look just like that!"

"My idea of a perfect woman!"

"We've got to get pictures of this on the web site - she did sign the release, didn't she?"

The spit was placed on yokes that kept Caroline about four feet above the coals. She would be hot, but, considering distance and the drugs within her, she shouldn't feel pain.

A motor was engaged and the spit began to rotate slowly, about two rpms. The sisterhood went to work with brushes, basting Caroline with butter and barbeque sauce. Nadine was in charge of misting the roasting woman's head with water, being careful to keep it out of her eyes.

Somebody handed Callie a brush and she joined in the basting. She remembered a spot on Caroline's lower tummy, about an inch above where her left thigh joined her trunk - Caroline had gone wild when Callie had licked her there and Callie made sure to stroke that spot with her brush.

As Maxwell promised, two tv monitors had been placed in Caroline's line of vision and they provided views from fore and aft of her glistening, rotating body.

All the proteges complimented Caroline on how beautiful she looked and how wonderful she was beginning to smell.

The basters rotated positions clockwise, Nadine remaining in charge of the misting, so Callie was able to observe from every angle. She blinked when she first noticed that the part of the spit protruding from Caroline's vagina was rotating in the opposite direction the rest of the spit. She pointed at it in amazement and the protege on her left explained that the women were given a choice of seven different designs for that part of the spit and they were encouraged to experiment extensively before deciding which was right for them.

Caroline had been roasting for about seven minutes by the time Callie got to a position where she had a good view of her face. She had seen Caroline in erotic ecstasy, and she looked sort of like that now, but it was hard to tell with her mouth filled with wood. Her eyes were rolling with apparent pleasure, though.

Having no idea how long a roasting woman would remain lucid, Callie took advantage of what could be her last chance to communicate with Caroline.

"You really do look lovely, you know?"

A long blink from Caroline.

"Is everything all right?"

Long blink.

"Caroline, do you have a signal for 'no'?"

Long blink, followed, after a pause, by two short blinks.

"Good. I was beginning to wonder. But you are a very positive person, aren't you?"

Long blink.

"I bet you've always been that way, haven't you?"

Two short blinks.

Callie was surprised by this and asked, "You mean, you used to be a lot more negative about life?"

Long blink.

"Did all this..." a gesture taking in the pit, the crowd, Maxwell's ranch "...signing the contract, getting on the menu - is that what made the difference?"

Long blink and two short blinks.

"You mean this was part of it, but not all of it?"

Long blink.

"Is this the biggest part of it?"

Long blink.

Callie really wished Caroline were able to give more than "yes" and "no" answers. She wished she had thought to ask some of the questions racing through her mind when Caroline could still answer them. There was a lot she could have learned from this woman but never would. It was too late.

She suddenly realized that she might be distracting Caroline from enjoying her roast, so she decided to wrap up the conversation.

"Well, again, you look gorgeous. I'm glad I came and I'm going to enjoy eating you and I know that makes you happy."

Long blink.

"But I'm also going to miss you and I hope that doesn't make you sad."

Two short blinks.

"I'll move on now. Good luck."

Two long blinks, which Callie wasn't sure meant "Thanks" or "Good-bye" in roasterspeak.

Some of the sorority sisters found their tolerance for the heat being stressed and they dropped out of the basting rotation and others took their places. Callie could stand the heat and remained.

By the time Callie had moved around to be in a position to speak to Caroline again, it was clear that the rotation and heat had gotten to Caroline. Her eyes were half shut and unfocused. To the extent she moved at all, she was twitching rather than responding to stimulation. Nadine was rather frantic in her misting.

It was on Callie's third pass that she saw Caroline actually give up the ghost. Her eyes opened wide, rolled up, and remained like that.

Callie looked a question at Nadine, who nodded but said "Let's wait a minute or two," and went on misting.

Callie had no idea what they were waiting for, but finally Nadine turned around said, "Maxwell, it's time."

Maxwell called out the names "Guy, Frank, Hank," and the four men quickly picked up the spit and carried Caroline toward the tent.

"Why are they taking her away?" Callie asked. "She can't be cooked already."

"She's going to be decapitated, gutted, and stuffed," Nadine replied.

"Oh." Callie looked in the direction of the tent. Apparently this non-glamorous part of the process didn't draw a crowd, as nobody else was heading for the tent.

Callie felt she should see this, too, but when she turned back to ask Nadine if they could go, Nadine had vanished and Callie realized that everybody else she knew well was already in the tent. She had an odd feeling that if Anthea were present, she would have been willing to escort Callie.

Not really being a member of this society, Callie didn't feel that she should stumble into the tent. Really, growing up in a Midwestern farming community, she had seen plenty of butchery of livestock and dressing of game animals. This couldn't be that different.

She had decided that - what the heck? - a project like this could use a woman's touch and was beginning to move toward the tent, when she saw the four men emerge, carrying headless Caroline on the spit.

Callie was amazed at the speed at which the task had been accomplished, but she soon saw three more men and two women whom she recognized as wives rather than proteges emerging from the tent and she realized that the final preps on Caroline must have been performed with the efficiency of a pit stop at the Indianapolis 500.

The roasting, prior to Caroline's demise, had been, at least in part, an erotic event, but now it was more purely a matter of food preparation. Maxwell gave instructions to two of members of his household staff who would tend the coals and Caroline's body. This time, the body was placed much closer to the coals and the spit rotated faster, about six rpms.

"Wanna go for a tall cool one?" Hank asked.

"Yeah. It was kind of hot by the pit," Callie replied. "By the way, can I ask you a few things?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

Callie learned from Hank that Caroline's head was currently in a jar and, in a week or so, it would be mounted on a wall with those of nine of her predecessors. Her intestines would be made into chitlins and served at the party that evening. Her liver would be made into a cracker spread. Less savory parts, like the stomach and lungs would be made into fertilizer for rose bushes that decorated the cemetery where the bones of Maxwell's proteges were buried. As for her heart, Maxwell was fond of eating that organ in privacy.

After she had been enlightened, Callie told Hank that she wanted to go and baste Caroline some more. Hank didn't bat an eye or point out the obvious, but simply nodded.

Callie wasn't the only postmortem baster. Two members of the sisterhood were already at work and, recognizing Callie from Caroline's introduction, they introduced themselves as Linda and Alice. That was about all the conversation there was, as each woman kept her thoughts to herself.

Caroline's beautiful abdomen now had a long slash from breastbone to pubis. She had been neatly stitched back together and Callie could not help but think that, if she were alive, Caroline would have what some would consider a very sexy scar, straight from her heart to her womanhood.

It struck Callie as darkly humorous that the vaginal portion of the spit continued to rotate contrary to the rest of the spit. Somebody should tell it that its work is over, Callie thought. Caroline doesn't need it anymore. She doesn't need anything. She looked at the basting brush in her hand. Caroline doesn't need me to do this, either. But she would like it, I know.

Caroline's yes-no answers to Callie's questions had suggested many more questions that Caroline would never be able to answer. How did committing herself to being roasted improve her outlook on life? Did Caroline herself see this as paradoxical? Did she have tales of broken romances and other disappointments that she never told because nobody ever asked?

As she watched Caroline's flesh become darker and smelled the heady aroma of cooking meat, Callie regretted that she had missed an opportunity. She should have asked her questions before it was too late.

She also knew that she would soon be expected to answer a question herself. She noticed Guy smiling as he watched her basting the dead woman. She was sure he was thinking Callie's really into this. I know what her answer will be.

At that moment, Callie herself had not completely formulated her answer. She worked on that as she watched Caroline's body become dinner.

Two hours later, she sat with Hank as they enjoyed plates of spicy barbeque, fried potatoes, dressing, and creamy cole slaw.

"She is so delicious," Callie commented. "It's a shame that she can't be here to enjoy herself - and I do mean 'enjoy herself.' "

"No argument on either score," Hank agreed.

"That's the problem with this whole scene: it's sexy and fun and the food is great, but somebody has to die in order for this to happen. And death is so, well, permanent. It would be just great if Caroline could come back and we all could let her know how much we enjoyed her and she could tell us how it felt to be roasted. It would be great if she could have even a taste of herself. It's too bad that there's no way that can happen."

"Maybe there is - somewhere."

"Oh?"

Hank went on to tell Callie about a fantasy world in which women were regularly eaten, but their minds and spirits were instantly transferred to cloned bodies so that they could feast upon themselves. This struck Callie as a wonderful concept and, encouraged, Hank went on to describe for her some of the fascinating characters that he imagined might inhabit such a universe

Shortly after they had finished their second helpings of Caroline, Guy approached them.

"Callie, I don't mean to rush you, but Sherman has to fly back to Georgia yet tonight and it's about ten p.m. in England. Maxwell can get Anthony and Anthea on an Internet link as long as he tries at a decent hour, and, since Aaron from your own part of the country is also here today, we could all hear your answer at the same time, if you're ready to give it."

"I'm ready," Callie said pleasantly.

"Hank, you're welcome to come along, too," Guy offered.

"Callie?" Hank looked at her.

"Yeah, come on along if you want," Callie told him with a smile, then said to Guy, "Ask Franklin to bring Nadine with him, please."

Guy was a bit puzzled, but agreed.

The meeting was held in Maxwell's study because that was where he kept his computer terminal with the largest monitor as well as a video camera. It was also the room in which he kept the nine heads of his previous proteges. As Callie surveyed them, she noticed they represented a wide range of ethnic types. At least Maxwell was an equal opportunity cannibal. Callie wondered if someday her head would be on the wall, too.

She realized that, by coincidence, she was addressing nine living faces as well: Guy, Maxwell, Franklin, Sherman from the Southland, her fellow Midwesterner Aaron, Hank, Nadine, and, via the Internet, Anthony and Anthea.

"Well, what should we talk about?" Callie asked and received a nice round of laughter.

Then she gave them her answer.

No, she would not sign the contract as they ad presented the terms.

But that did not mean she was necessarily off the menu.

She would agree to run as quarry exclusively for members of the diners' club, not necessarily limited to those in the room or on the computer screen. However, she did want a list of the group's membership, and, if a new member joined, she wanted the right to refuse to run for him until she made sure that he was not a "ringer" brought in just for the purpose of bringing her down.

When Callie mentioned this last condition, she saw Anthony whisper something to Anthea, who chuckled in response.

As for helping proteges like Nadine who wanted to get into shape to ride the spit, Callie would be glad to do what she would and, since she wasn't a professional, she would only ask for transportation, room and board, and modest entertainment during her visit. She would even try to take a few classes and, if she managed to gain credentials as a personal trainer, she would be willing to accept money.

Also, when she ran as quarry, she would sign a release saying she could be taken off the hunting grounds alive. She would want at least a month of pampered treatment and she would agree to be spitted and roasted alive.

Under this plan, she could wind up as an entree within a few months, or might take much longer than five years.

In short, she would not sell herself outright for any price, but she would let them have a chance at her whenever they wanted - for her usual runner's fee.

"What if there aren't many members who have the, uh, confidence to hunt you?" Guy wanted to know.

"Well, I've got to eat just like anybody else. If nobody feels up to it, then I'll have to run for other hunters and one of them might get me. I could ask that he give me to you when he's done with me, but most of these fellows have their own plans."

"Suppose," Franklin suggested, "we were to give sufficient compensation for your services as a trainer that you could thrive on those funds alone. Would that avoid the necessity of you endangering yourself with hunters outside the group?"

"After I get some credentials, you can pay me all you want," Callie said agreeably, then changed her tone. "But, while that will keep me out of the field, it won't get me on the spit."

"The phrase 'off the streets, but not between the sheets' comes to mind," Anthony observed.

"Something like that," Callie agreed. "If you want to spit me, first you have to get me."

As she surveyed the group, the only smiling faces Callie saw were those of Hank and Nadine. The nine heads on the wall seemed more cheerful than her live audience.

"Any questions or comments?" Callie invited.

Hearing none, she said, "I'll let you mull over my counteroffer among yourselves. While you do that, come on, Nadine. Let's go?"

"Go? Where?" Nadine was puzzled.

"There's plenty of daylight left. We're going to jog around the ranch until dark."

"Okay!" Nadine was on her feet in an instant.

"I'll come along in case you need a rubdown or something." Hank also rose.

The seven would-be syndicate members were left muttering.

"So, did they accept your challenge?" Colonel Stoneridge asked after Callie had described the meeting.

"Well, they weren't happy about the idea that they would have to work for their dinner," Callie said, "but they did come to see things my way. I really didn't give them much choice."

"Did all parties find that arrangement satisfying?"

"For a while, yes - but only for a while."