It is after "The Tonight Show" and I have been awful! I wonder

for the 3,578th time--the approximate number of times I ve been

on the show, multiplied by the number of times I brood about it

afterward why I subject myself to this torture . . . does any-

body need self-flagellation? Riding back from the NBC studios in

Burbank to the Bel-Air Hotel in West Los Angeles, tummy allowed

to pooch out for the first time in five hours, bravely smiling little

face finally free to crumple, I consider asking the driver to try en-

tering the Hollywood Freeway southbound from the southbound

off ramp; if we make it, this would have us moving north when

everybody else was coming south and take care of future "Tonight

Show" appearances, as well as all life s other problems, very nicely.

Slumped in the seat, I am in pain and, for once in my life, it has

nothing to do with looks (a bit of a hang-up for me, as it seems to

be for so many--more later if you re still reading). With a "To-

night Show" hairdresser working on your hair for twenty minutes,

your hairpiece for twenty minutes, and the two of them together

for twenty minutes, and one of their makeup wizards working on

your face for close to an hour, how are you going to look--ugly?

Tucked into Calvin Klein s beautiful new silk pajamas--I am

always tucked into somebody s beautiful new silk pajamas for