The book party in Pasadena, with more than 100 guests at the Western Justice Center, was classy, fun, and memorable. My friend, actor Cully Fredricksen, flew down from the Bay Area and performed his Jack Bennett monologue one more time. Cully is an intense performer, and the role makes his intensity surge.  Truly, he inhabits Jack Bennett, and becomes him. Moments before going on stage, Cully sat in a room, wearing his 1930 vintage tuxedo, perspiring profusely. He was all nervous energy. During his monologue, I found myself watching the women in the audience as they watched Cully. Their facial expressions told it all: some were repelled by the chauvinism and raw power of Jack Bennett, others seduced by his animal magnetism. I believe that's how women must've reacted during the 1920's to the real Jack Bennett, elegant perfume salesman, and Myrtle's alpha male husband   The wooden, fold-up bridge table used for this performance once belonged to my parents. I well remember watching Mom and Dad sitting at that table, playing bridge with friends, usually the Altmans. (My Dad passed away eight years ago, and I cherish any and all reminders of him.) The Devil's Tickets is dedicated to my mom, and she served as host for the Pasadena party. A lot of her friends were there, many of them bridge players. Some of my old friends (and Carrie's) attended, too -- our friends from high school, college, and from our Atlanta years.   After Cully's performance, my brother Glenn engaged me in a question and answer session.  Glenn is a smart guy (Harvard Law School), quick-witted, and he's got a huge heart.  I promised him I wouldn't mention that long-ago night in high school when Kiki Vandewghe scored 73 points against him in a basketball game at Taft High School . . . in only three quarters. (Okay, so maybe it was 23 points or 33, but 73 makes for a better story so I'm sticking with it.)   It made for a special moment: sitting at Mom and Dad's bridge table with a big brother I so admire.