Nellie always said she'd never make twenty-two and she lived on her ""own personal precipice,"" died right on schedule, and was identified by Mike, a middle-aged artist who had painted her--without a face. Actually she's a little hard to get down on any kind of paper without losing some of her charm but Miss Maas has done very well with this ""golden girl for fake and for real""--a hoyden full of vagaries. She sings a little; she tipples a lot; she prowls; she lies; she disappears and she is viewed through the eyes of the men on whom she made quite an impression, the artist, in New York, a writer in Boston whom she loved, an agent in Hollywood, an actor whom she married and made (her only accomplishment) and a teacher at Barnard (Nellie drifted in and out of schools and quoted law, poetry, anything). Well, this is trivia, but talented trivia, and Nellie's a little like Holly Golightly--full of apocrypha and ambiguities; she's a loser with flair, one of the notional originals with a special style and an instant appeal. Nellie used to say she related to all men--but she should connect with that other sex.