`What can I say, Dolly?' the host says with a sigh, twisting the buttered strands of her ripped girdle between his fingers. `Your children are murdered, your husband gone, a corpse in your bathtub, and your house is wrecked. I'm sorry. But what can I say?' On the TV, the news is over, and they're selling aspirin. `Hell, I don't know,' she says. `Let's see what's on the late late movie.'