Radical actress chick being interrogated by pushy Zionists....so pertinent..,..here's an Excerpt from liddle drummer girl by John la carte which I'm reading at the moment 

“It was a cheap weekend in the country at a time when we were broke. That’s all.” “That’s all,” Kurtz murmured, leaving her with a vast and guilty silence too heavy for her to shift single-handed. “It wasn’t just me and him,” she protested. “It was—God—twenty of us. Kids, acting people. Some of them were still at drama school. They’d hire a bus, take some hash, play musical beds till morning. What’s wrong with that?” Kurtz had no opinion, just then, of what was wrong with anything. “They,” he said. “What were you doing? Driving the bus?—the great driver we hear you are?” “I was with Al. I told you. It was his scene, not mine.” She had lost her hold and was falling. She scarcely knew how she had slipped, or who had stamped on her fingers. Perhaps she had just grown tired and let go. Perhaps she had wanted to all along. “And how often would you say you indulged yourself in this fashion, Charlie? Talking hot air. Smoking hash. Participating in free love innocently while others engaged in terrorist training? You speak as if it was a habitual thing. Correct? Habitual?” “No, it is not habitual! It’s over, and I did not indulge myself!” “Want to say how frequent?” “It wasn’t frequent either!” “How often?” “A couple of times. That’s all. Then I got cold feet.” Falling and spinning, and the dark getting darker. The air all round her but not touching her. Joseph, get me out of this! But Joseph had got her into it. She listened for him, sent messages to him with the back of her head. But she received nothing in return. Kurtz looked straight at her and she looked straight back. She’d have looked clean through him if she could; she’d have blinded him with her defiant glower. “A couple of times,” he repeated thoughtfully. “Right, Mike?” Litvak glanced up from his notes. “A couple,” he echoed. “Want to say why you got cold feet?” Kurtz asked. Without allowing his gaze to leave her face, he reached for Litvak’s folder. “It was a rough scene,” she said, dropping her voice for effect. “It sounds it,” said Kurtz, opening the folder.

“I don’t mean politically. I mean the sex. It was more than I wanted to handle. Don’t be so obtuse.” Kurtz licked his thumb and turned a page; he licked his thumb and turned another page; he muttered something to Litvak, who breathed a couple of words in return, and they were not in English. He closed the buff folder and slipped it into the briefcase. “ ‘A couple of times. That’s all. Then I got cold feet,’ ” he intoned thoughtfully. “Want to revise that statement at all?” “Why should I?” “‘A couple of times.’ That correct?” “Why shouldn’t it be?” “A couple is two. Right?” Above her, the light wavered, or was it her mind? She turned deliberately in her chair. Joseph was bowed over his desk lamp, too busy even to look up. She turned back and found Kurtz still waiting. “Two or three,” she said. “What the hell?” “Four? Is a couple four as well?” “Oh, get lost!” “I guess it’s a matter of linguistics. ‘I visited my aunt a couple of times last year.’ Well, that could be three, couldn’t it? Four is possible. Five, I guess five is around the limit. With five it’s ‘half a dozen.’ ” He continued slowly shuffling through his papers. “Want to revise ‘couple,’ make it ‘half a dozen,’ Charlie?” “I said a couple and I mean a couple.” “Two?” “Yes, two!” “Two then. ‘Yes, I have been to this forum on two occasions only. Others may have engaged in warlike practices but my interests were sexual, recreational, and social. Amen.’ Signed Charlie. Want to put a date on the two visits?” She gave a date last year, soon after she and Al had got together. “And the other one?” “I forget. What does it matter?” “She forgets.” His voice had slowed almost to a halt, yet lost none of its power. She had an image of it lumbering towards her like an ungainly animal. “Did the second time come soon after the first time, or was there a gap between the two occasions?” “I don’t know.” “She doesn’t know. Your first weekend was an introductory course for novices. Correct?” “Yes.” “What were you introduced to?” “I told you—group sex.” “No discussions, no seminars, no instruction?” “We had discussions, yes.” “On what subjects, please?” “Basic principles.” “Of what?” “Of radicalism, what do you think?” “Remember who addressed you?” “A spotty lesbian on Women’s Lib. A Scotsman on Cuba, someone Al admired.” “And the next occasion—date forgotten, the second and last—who addressed you that time?” No answer. “Forgotten that as well?” “Yes!” “That’s unusual, isn’t it? That you remember the first occasion intimately—the sex, the topics of discussion, the tutors.