Here comes Kitten and James Cartwright Holland, the junior Babbitt of One Hundred Dollar Misunderstanding, takes pen in hand to most definitely assure a doubting world that his boss, Herman Pennypacker, did not die of a heart attack in a motel bed shared with a Negro whore. Mr. Pennypacker was the Chairman of the County Board of Commissioners where J.C. is on the public relations staff. J.C. admits that he did introduce Mr. Pennypacker to a nightclub singer called Gigi Abercrombie who is none other than ""Kitten"" and that they did repair to a motel and that the Board Chairman did have a twinge but that Mr. Pennypacker would never dream of dying under such embarrassing circumstances. J.C. hasn't changed -- he's only more so -- and Kitten's alternating story sizzles with the straight news. Her inspired term for Pennypacker is ""the bored head"" and, according to her, he died exactly the way J.C. swears he didn't. While J.C. claims he was a messenger in the affair, Kitten's word is ""pimpin."" Rabelais might blush at her explicit description of Pennypacker's approach to paid romance, but her primitive honesty, delivered in the bluest of language, can still punch at the heart and/or leave you weak with laughter. Conservative readers will ""scream or go blind"" but it will be leering at them from high on the bestseller lists.