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Except E. Jean Carroll won’t be rattled. “Eight.” 

Alina Habba — who will later be appointed New Jersey’s top federal prosecutor by Trump, only to be ousted 120 days later — wants names.

“I lost my virginity with the star of the swim team after I graduated from Indiana University. .”

Unperturbed, Carroll continues: Steven Byers, editor-in-chief of “Outdoor Life,” husband for 14 years; Englishman film director (“Pumping Iron”) George Butler; literary agent Bob Datilla; writer/cartoonist and brother to a British baron, Anthony Haden-Guest; Broadway star ; Academy Award-nominated actor ; TV news anchor and ex-husband No. 2, John Johnson.

With a coitus °ù±ð²õ³Ü³¾Ã©Ìýlike that, who wouldn’t want to put it on the record? “I am excessively fond of my lovers.”

She does not love — but once upon a time rather liked, from their superficial acquaintance — Donald J. Trump. Asked on the stand to identify Carroll in a photograph of them together, the then-in-between president mistakes her for Mrs. Trump No. 2. “That’s Marla.”

Carroll famously sued Trump for defamation in 2023, arising from his typically coarse denial and denunciation of Carroll’s claim that he’d sexually assaulted her in the change room at Bergdorf Goodman, the posh New York City department store — shoved her against the wall, yanked down her tights, digitally “rummaged” in her vagina and then inserted his penis as she struggled to free herself.

A federal civil jury for sexual abuse, forcible touching and defamation, awarding Carroll $5 million in damages.

“While I am sleeping, Trump has his CNN town hall and cracks everybody up with jokes about sexual assaults and repeats every single thing that a unanimous jury just declared he has to pay me $5 million for saying,” Carroll writes. “And, after I wake up? I sue him again.”

A second jury convicts him again and elevates the price tag for damages to $83 million. With interest accrued, he now owes Carroll upwards of $100 million.

Not that she’s seen a penny of it yet, as Trump drags the cases through appeals. In June, Trump’s legal attack dogs were back before a judge to argue that a Supreme Court ruling last year gave their client sweeping immunity. Even though Trump wasn’t president at the time of Carroll’s two court knockouts. That appeal decision is still pending.

Despite in another case — falsifying business records — Trump has racked up considerable litigious triumphs, mostly by swinging presidential clout in his second time around in the White House. In the past year he’s arm-twisted humiliating surrender and honking huge settlements from CBS (“60 Minutes,” Paramount), ABC News and Disney. Last month he sued the Wall Street Journal for $10 billion over that lewd birthday card to Jeffrey Epstein, which Trump insists is a fake.

Just about everybody buckles to Trump. But not E. Jean Carroll.

She’s now taking a victory lap in a scathing memoir, “Not My Type: One Woman vs. a President,” dishing with lacerating wit from inside her tilting-at-windmills takedown of Trump. The title is itself a shiv, repurposing Trump’s notorious insult — that he couldn’t possibly have raped Carroll because ”.” Too unattractive and too old, even back in 1996 when the assault occurred.

Carroll understood that part of her assignment was convincing a jury that she was someone Trump would have tried to rape, back in the day — not always a “desiccated” old crone. Jurors had to see at least a shadow of that middle-aged woman. So she cut her hair into a bob, such as she sported then, and dressed the sophisticated part with a chic curated wardrobe — in fact, landing on a best-dressed list for her courtroom wardrobe.

Even at age 81, Carroll is a lovely woman, evoking the beauty-pageant contestant and prom queen she’d once been. But she’s steely, from a life of accomplishment and adventure: Writer for Rolling Stone, Esquire and Playboy, biographer of Hunter S. Thompson — something of a gonzo journalist herself — 26 years as an advice columnist at Elle Magazine, followed by her own cable TV show, staff writer at “Saturday Night Live.” She lives alone in a cabin in the woods and owns a shotgun she’s christened Aphrodite.

In “Not My Type,” she takes both a stiletto and a hatchet to Trump and his legal team, particularly — slyly, wryly — the aforementioned Alina Habba. “Wow! Alina Habba, Esq looks so pretty with her dark hair pulled into a low bun — the humble-brag of a beauty! — with her tremendous high heels, and her very tight, white sweater, and her electric-blue pantsuit hugging her round bottom, and her diamonds glittering from her ears.”

As a breezy, skilful author, Carroll delights in skewering Trump with deft precision: “hair twirled across his forehead like ’ ” and “hair rolling across his forehead like Barbara Stanwyck in ‘Ball of Fire.’ ” She also calls him “the apricot mythomaniac,” while referencing everyone from Mr. Darcy to “The Great Gatsby” to Anne Boleyn. At the end of a day in court, an enraged Trump is standing in the lobby. “Saint Sebastian tied to a tree and shot with arrows could not look more pathetic.”

Yes, it’s a 345-page revenge diary. But she’s earned it. Such was the vitriol flung at her before, during and after the trials that at one point, sitting in her hotel room, reading hate mail, she experienced a sudden fear of being shot through the window. When the curtains wouldn’t close completely, she covered the gap by hanging up pantsuits. But mostly she is fearless, taking on one of the most powerful men in the world, past and future occupant of the Oval Office.

There is pathos, too. Carroll admits that she was emotionally mutilated by the horrible incident with Trump — even though she had believed herself “over it” — and blamed herself for having flirted with him. Until intense sessions with a psychotherapist hired by the defence to provide an assessment for the court diagnoses “significant and enduring damage.”

“After Trump attacks me, I never have sex again.”

“I lack the desire to desire. And I totally lack the drive to be desirable.”

That’s how she spent the intervening years — isolated from intimacy.

In the epilogue, Carroll emphasizes what was arguably the most significant outcome of her trials. Trump had not been convicted of rape, only sexual abuse, because the jury hadn’t found sufficient evidence that Carroll had been penetrated with his penis. Subsequently, however, New York State’s rape law was modified so that all non-consensual vaginal, oral or anal sexual contact can be considered rape.

“We prove Trump is a liar. We change the rape law in New York.”

Not a bad epitaph at all.