What goes on, and what comes off here (in a glissade, down to those dangling garter belts) in so many innumerable, immemorable scenes, all defies synthesis. Wirt Williams writes commercial novels (Ada Dallas, A Passage of Hawks) and this one has a Harold Robbins readability factor. It's the Big Picture, Hollywood again, with lots of what one Frenchman dubbed ""la petite secousse"" and what Williams refers to more bluntly as ""phallic conjunction."" Basically, that could be the right word, this deals with the filming in Greece of The Trojans and Margaret Dayton, its star, has a poor ""track record."" She often doesn't turn up and the film is running into millions (No, it is not Cleopatra). She's got problems; she's been collecting older men most of her young life, chipped father figures. Now she disappears with the wife of her director and the book synchronizes everything up to then via her husband--a writer, her mother (they have collided more than once over lovers), her director, her agent (he's the one), etc. Like Carpetbaggers, it reads in an unsexpurgated fashion. But it would be sheer Comstockery after spending a disenchanted evening with Rosner's The Princess and the Goblin (p. 854) to append a Q.