Zell frowned, '7 Minutes in Heaven' was not her thing, but when her friend Simon forced her to put her number in--number 62, she thought bitterly--she seemed it was better to just hang back and hope not to get picked. The slip fell in tauntingly and she flopped into the couch, wedged between two mask-make-uped anorexic girls and Simon. She glared at her friend and he just looked back, sliding his number in along with hers; number seven, she saw briefly. She watched as the girls slipped theirs in, then about ten or so others. Lucky it was a large house, there would be enough closets for the rest of us whores, she thought venomously, dreading the name-picking.