A year after the unanticipated success of Fear of Flying, the uncanonized ""Matron Saint of Adulteresses"" had already programmed her next book, i.e. this book. So this is where we're now at as Isadora Wing (of F O F), otherwise Candida of Candida Confesses, otherwise--how could it be otherwise--Erica, plans to abandon her seven room co-op and her glum, methodical Oriental psychiatrist husband who had been so supportive. Just like Leonard Woolf. But unfaithful, even if it took her so long to discover his infidelity in Heidelberg while she had only been guilty of a couple of ""mercy fucks."" In the same off-the-wall fashion, this ultimate femme sensuelle (""Someday every woman will have orgasms--like every family has color TV"") vamps the same material. There are scenes (again she's best when transplanted--to Zurs, skiing, or Hollywood) with some of her friends; a Lesbian WASP who is so unforthcoming; two Jeffreys, one with an esoteric disease; her agent, a horrible little gargoyle four-feet-ten under her russet Afro. Finally there's love love love i.e. sex sex sex with Josh, at the Beverly Hills Hotel. On occasion the humor is hard-won (""Mary Cunt; Elizabeth Ardent"") and overindulgence nullifies. But Miss Jong is her same cheerful self and has a funny tongue in that sassy mouth. The book is sure to be another zipless zinger.