I was a movie star once. When I was nine years old I was a big star in certain circles. My greatest success was a film called 'My Little Pony' after the toy. The toy pony came in lots of colours but the one in the movie was white all over except for his eyes which were black. In the movie I wore a spangley circus costume and did tricks with the pony. The last trick was getting fucked by the pony. My father made the films in an old barn out on Long Island. There were three guys who worked on the films besides my father and all of them used to fuck me, but my father was the only one who got to fuck me in the movies. And the pony of course. The pony was my father's idea. I asked him if I could have one of those My Little Pony toys, I think that's how he thought of it. He got me my own little pony, a pink one with purple hair just like I'd asked for only by then I didn't want it anymore.

I don't believe that story about the pony. You can't believe a word she says. She's always making things up, embroidering at best. I've looked and looked on the internet and there's no trace anywhere of a film like that. I think she made the whole thing up. I've caught her in lies before. I used to be a ballet dancer, that was one. Ask her what company, she just looks vague and says oh here and there, not one company, it wasn't like that. Or says she can't remember. We used to have a big house in France, she said to me once. A house with servants and a big Alsatian dog. A house by the sea. At night you could hear the sea crying... What part of France? I asked her. She just shrugged. I don't know, I was too little. Next she'll be telling me about the time she had to fuck the dog.

I had such a pretty costume! she said. Pink. All sparkles. A little bra and panties and a tiara too. I'd always wanted a tiara. Where was your mother while all this was going on? I asked her. She looked down at the floor. You're confusing me, she said. My mother never said anything about it. It was my father... I don't believe any of this.

In France we used to have lunch in the garden, she said. Long lunches that went on all afternoon. The table was set with crystal glasses and thin white china plates, with fat pink roses all around. The knives and forks so heavy I could barely lift them. Many people came to these lunches, friends of my father's. I used to play with the dog, his name was Bidou. I remember a priest who often came to lunch, he used to hold me on his lap and stroke me under my dress. And your mother? I said. She was there too... I don't remember. Oh yes! Here's one thing I remember. My mother in a straw hat. It had pale blue ribbons, I wanted a hat like that. Why don't you believe me? she says. I believe you, I say, it's just that none of it's true.

For a while they locked me away, she said. They said I told stories, they said I was a crazy girl and told stories. Do you think I tell stories? Yes, I said. Of course you tell stories. Some of your stories are beautiful. Not this one, she said. No, I agreed. There was a doctor with a red beard, she said. He didn't believe my stories either. When I told him about the pony his face turned redder than his beard. Did the pony talk to you? he said. As if a pony could talk. I thought you never told anyone about the pony before, I said. I thought you said I was the first person you ever told. You and the doctor, she said. I don't count the doctor, he wasn't anyone.

The doctor gave me pills to eat that made me sleep for a thousand years, she said. Twisting her left hand in her right as if she's trying to remove it from her wrist. When I woke up I was a different person. When I woke up everybody was gone. Where was your mother? I said. I don't know I tell you! She was not there. My father too was gone. I was all alone. That's when I met you, she said. Looking at me with those looking glass eyes. Everything she says is a lie. If everything I say is a lie, then I'll tell you I'm lying. Then you'll have to believe me, won't you? she said. Is everything you say a lie then? I said. Yes, she said. Everything. Every word. Every single syllable.