Meanwhile, Warren Craig, the Count's guest, sat in the center booth listening to the strains of rock music issuing from the empty stage. He was bored; everyone seemed to have disappeared to somewhere or another.
Idly, he switched on the television set above his head. When the picture came into focus, he was no longer bored. The picture showed the interior of a bedroom, with a couple rutting in the middle of a large bed. As he reached up to adjust the color he discovered that the room was decorated only in one color – green. He stared intently at the couple, trying to make out their faces. Ah, now he had it. It was a young man he hadn't met and the rich heiress he had met earlier, fucking wildly, oblivious that anyone was watching them.
Curiously, he pressed one of the set's colored buttons and watched the set change channels. What was there? The room was the same, just a different decorative color – yellow. And here too, was a couple rutting wildly. He studied their faces. It was Benito and his rich widow. He pushed the orange button. Ah, this was even better. His friend the Count was stretched full length on the bed with one of the young girls – the dark-haired one – straddling his loins while another one of the even younger nymphets eagerly straddled his face, fucking her little cunt against his mouth as though she had been doing it all her life. Hmmmmmm. If only the FCC could see this! He pushed the violet button. Ah, Marceau. Now this looks interesting. On the bed was the giggling redhead with her head buried in the loins of another of the young girls, who was equally enthralled with the private parts of the redhead, oblivious to Marceau who was using a big black whip on the 14 year-old blonde girl who had appeared on the stage. He tried to watch the girls on the bed but with Marceau's bare-assed antics, getting between the bed and camera, he couldn't see a damned thing.
So, he pressed the last button – the blue one!
Ah, ha, Carlo! And behind him, the big black drummer and the midget, Trembles, Marceau's chauffeur. But who was the blonde on the bed finger-fucking herself. He squinted to get a better look. My God! It's Elaine! Elaine! My wife… ex-wife. What… what in the hell is she doing here? And like that!
Without bothering to turn off the set, Warren left the booth and hurried toward the corridor…