Groupies: A Novel

But why couldn’t I accept that the situation might be impersonal? Might, in other words, not be my own fault,

yet she was not old enough to content herself with brooding over the past like Marcel Proust, whose book she was reading on the plane, and who obviously had nothing more pressing to do than regard the years as a museum filled with beautiful reproductions of lost jealousy and bygone fashion. In another sense, she felt herself to be an Innocent Virgi