conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a book titled Gerald's Game about Jessie, Gerald, Burlingame with the genre: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When rough sex between Jessie and Gerald Burlingame turns deadly, leaving Gerald dead and Jessie handcuffed to the bed, it sets in motion a terrifying and psychologically twisted twenty-eight hours. 1,500,000 first printing.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a plot for a book titled Gerald's Game.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gerald's Game: The story begins with Jessie Burlingame and her husband Gerald in the bedroom of their secluded cabin in western Maine, where they have gone for an off-beat romantic day off.\nGerald, a successful lawyer with an aggressive personality, has been able to reinvigorate the couple\'s sex life by handcuffing Jessie to the bed.\nJessie has been into the game before, but suddenly balks.\nAs Gerald starts to crawl on top of her, knowing her protests are real but ignoring them anyway, she kicks him in the stomach and in the groin.\nHe falls from the bed to the floor, cracks his head, has a heart attack, and quickly dies.\nJessie is alone in the cabin, unable to move off the bed, or summon help.\nThe only things that show up are a hungry stray dog named Prince that starts feeding on Gerald\'s body and a terrifying, deformed apparition that may or may not be real, whom Jessie first mistakes for the ghost of her long-dead father but dismisses it later.\nJessie begins to think of this bizarre visitor as "The Space Cowboy" (after a line from a Steve Miller song, "The Joker").\nA combination of panic and thirst eventually causes Jessie to hallucinate.\nShe hears voices in her head, each one ostensibly the voice of a person in her life, primarily "The Goodwife" or "Goody Burlingame" (a somewhat Puritanical version of Jessie), Ruth Neary (an old college friend), and Nora Callighan (her ex-psychiatrist), both of whom Jessie hasn\'t spoken to in years.\nThese voices represent different parts of her personality which help her extract a painful childhood memory she has kept suppressed for many years.\nShe was sexually abused by her father at age ten during a solar eclipse that occurred in her Maine hometown.\nShe also begins to realize how unhappy her marriage had been, and that she sacrificed a potentially happy life for the security of Gerald\'s paycheck by being a trophy wife without children.\nThis internal dialogue is mixed with descriptions of Jessie\'s more and more desperate attempts to get out of the handcuffs, first by trying to break the headboard she was cuffed to then by trying to slip off the bed and pushing the bed to the bureau where the keys were placed.\nFinally, she does escape after one of the voices in her head tells her that if she stays another night, The Space Cowboy, who she dreamed of as a manifestation of Death, will more than likely take a part of her to add to its trophy "fishing creel" filled with jewelry and human bones, killing her in the process.\nJessie escapes the handcuffs by slicing her wrist open all the way around on a broken glass and giving herself a degloving injury in order to lubricate her skin enough for the cuffs, which were made for men and not women and thus almost loose enough for her to slip out normally, to slide off her right hand.\nShe is then able to move behind the bed, push it over to the bureau and use one of the keys to unlock her left handcuff.\nHowever, she has lost a lot of blood and passes out shortly after.\nWhen she awakens, it is now nighttime, and the Space Cowboy has made his way back into the house.\nJessie confronts him and throws her wedding ring at his box of jewelry and bones, thinking that is what he wanted all along, then turns and runs out of the house.\nShe is able to make it into her car and finally escape the house, but is terrified to discover the Space Cowboy sitting in the backseat of the car.\nJessie crashes out of fear and is knocked unconscious, and it is later revealed that she only imagined the Space Cowboy in the backseat.\nThe story cuts to months later with Jessie recuperating from the incident and being looked after by a nurse.\nAn ambitious associate attorney at Gerald\'s law firm assists her in covering up the real incident to protect her and the law firm from scandal, as well as assisting her in her recuperation.\nAt the end, we get to read the letter that Jessie writes to Ruth Neary, detailing what happened after the incident and her recuperation process, which is slow but very meaningful.\nOne of the passages in the letter revolves around a serial necrophile and murderer named Raymond Andrew Joubert making his way through Maine; it turns out he was the Space Cowboy, confirmed when Jessie confronted him in a court hearing and Joubert mimicked Jessie\'s arm positions while she was in the handcuffs.\nHe also repeated her frightened exclamations that Joubert was "not anyone," and that he was only "made of moonlight".\nJessie also mentions what became of Prince who gnawed on Gerald.\nPrince was shot and killed by the police.\nInitially, his owner had abandoned him in Maine and driven back to Massachusetts, simply because he didn\'t want to pay for the dog\'s license.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this book.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Gerald's Game
  The worst thing, however, was the sandwich lying on the passenger seat. The thing poking out from between the two slices of Wonder Bread was pretty clearly a human tongue. It had been slathered with that bright yellow mustard kids like.
  They moved Joubert over to Chamberlain shortly after sunrise. While Ridgewick was turned around in the front seat of the cruiser, reading Joubert his rights through the mesh (it was the second or third time he'd done it—Ridgewick is apparently nothing if not methodical), Joubert interrupted to say he "might have done somefing bad to Daddy-Mummy, awful sorry." They had by that time established from documents in Joubert's wallet that he was living in Motton, a farming town just across the river from Chamberlain, and as soon as Joubert was safely locked up in his new quarters, Ridgewick informed officers from both Chamberlain and Motton what Joubert had told them.
  On the way back to Castle Rock, LaPointe asked Ridgewick what he thought the cops headed for Joubert's house might find. Ridgewick said, "I don't know, but I hope they remembered to take their gas masks."
  A version of what they found and the conclusions they drew came out in the papers over the following days, growing as it did, of course, but the State Police and the Maine Attorney General's Office had a pretty good picture of what had been going on in the farm-house on Kingston Road by the time the sun went down on Joubert's first day behind bars. The couple Joubert called his "Daddy-Mummy"—actuary his stepmother and her commonlaw husband—were dead, all right. They'd been dead for months, although Joubert continued to speak as if the "somefing bad" had happened only days or hours ago. He had scalped them both, and eaten most of "Daddy."
  There were body-parts strewn all over the house, some rotting and maggoty in spite of the cold weather, others carefully cured and preserved. Most of the cured parts were male sex-organs. On a shelf by the cellar stairs, the police found about fifty Ball jars containing eyes, lips, fingers, toes, and testicles. Joubert was quite the home canner. The house was also filled—and I do mean fitted—with stolen goods, mostly from summer camps and cottages. Joubert calls them "my things"—appliances, tools, gardening equipment, and enough lingerie to stock a Victoria's Secret boutique. He apparently liked to wear it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me three more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Brandon was watching me, trying to gauge the result of what he'd said. He must not have been able to, because he said it again, this time in a slightly different way. "You have to remember that, no matter how it looks, you could be wrong. And I think you have to resign yourself to the fact that you're never going to know, one way or the other, for sure."
  He was starting to smile that less-than-pleasant smile again, the one I bet he doesn't even know is in his repertoire, the one that says you can't live with 'em and you can't shoot 'em. "Oh? And how am I going to do that?"
  I'll spare you the hour of round-and-round which followed, a conversation that degenerated at one point to such intellectually profound statements as "You're crazy, Jess" and "Quit trying to run my life, Brandon." I thought of waving the cudgel of the press in front of him—it was the one thing I was almost sure would make him cave in—but in the end, I didn't have to. All I had to do was cry. In a way it makes me feel unbelievably sleazy to write that, but in another way it does not; in another way I recognize it as just another symptom of what's wrong between the fellers and the girls in this particular square-dance. He didn't entirely believe I was serious until I started to cry, you see.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: He didn't entirely believe I was serious until I started to cry, you see.. In a way it makes me feel unbelievably sleazy to write that, but in another way it does not; in another way I recognize it as just another symptom of what's wrong between the fellers and the girls in this particular square-dance. All I had to do was cry." I thought of waving the cudgel of the press in front of him—it was the one thing I was almost sure would make him cave in—but in the end, I didn't have to. "Oh? And how am I going to do that?"
  I'll spare you the hour of round-and-round which followed, a conversation that degenerated at one point to such intellectually profound statements as "You're crazy, Jess" and "Quit trying to run my life, Brandon."
  He was starting to smile that less-than-pleasant smile again, the one I bet he doesn't even know is in his repertoire, the one that says you can't live with 'em and you can't shoot 'em. And I think you have to resign yourself to the fact that you're never going to know, one way or the other, for sure. "You have to remember that, no matter how it looks, you could be wrong. He must not have been able to, because he said it again, this time in a slightly different way.Brandon was watching me, trying to gauge the result of what he'd said
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last four paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I will have to pay a fine for the privilege and Brandon says it will probably be a hefty one, but Brandon himself got out from under with only a reprimand, and that's a hell of a lot more important to me than any fine I might have to pay, since I more or less twisted his arm up behind his back and then lockstepped him to the hearing.
  And I guess that's it. Finally it. I think I'm really going to mail this, Ruth, and then I'm going to spend the next couple of weeks sweating out your reply. I treated you shabbily all those years ago, and while it wasn't strictly my fautt—t've only come to realize lately how often and how much we are moved by others, even when we are priding ourselves on our control and selfretiance—I still want to say I'm sorry. And I want to tell you something else, something I'm really starting to believe: I'm going to be okay. Not today, not tomorrow, and not next week, but eventually. As okay as we mortals are privileged to get, anyway. It's good to know that—good to know that survival is still an option, and that sometimes it even feels good. That sometimes it actually feels like victory.
  I love you, dear Ruth. You and your tough talk were a big part of saving my life last October, even though you didn't know it. I love you so much.
  She went to the window in the parlor and stood there for awhile before going upstairs, looking out over the Bay. It was starting to get dark. For the first time in a long time, this simple realization didn't fill her with terror.