Glamorama

"Where are you guys going?" I ask as she helps me stand.

Tammy and Bruce lift Bentley up off the lime-green couch and Bentley sloshes around and they steady him and then guide his weaving body down a staircase.

"We're going back to our house."

"What's our house?"

"A place we all inhabit," she says. "Does that simplify matters for you?"

"Why don't you come back to the Four Seasons with me?"

"You may do whatever you want, Victor." Jamie leans in and kisses me so hard I back into a giant vase of white roses, my head pressed into them, petals brushing over my cheeks, my scalp, my neck.

"I'm just glad you're here," she purrs before guiding me downstairs to Bruce's Jaguar. "And safe," she adds quietly.

"All this persuasion," I moan.

9

Bruce races recklessly in a skillful way through London streets, Tammy in the front seat next to him lighting another joint, both of them occasionally eyeing us distantly in the rearview mirror, and even with the air-conditioning blasting the windows are steamed over and I'm between Bentley and Jamie and she's clinging to me in the darkness of the backseat and that Robert Miles song "One and One" is blasting out of the speakers and I'm hungrily kissing her lips, craving her in a way I never did at Camden, while also contending with Bentley, who keeps reaching over, brushing confetti off the Versace jacket I'm wearing, and every time I push him away he makes doomed noises and Jamie keeps stroking my dick, which is stiff and raging against my thigh, and I have to keep repositioning myself and finally my hand wraps around hers, guiding it, applying more pressure, and when I'm too lost in Jamie, that's when Bentley's hand sneaks in and grabs something in my pocket and rubbing it he starts making gratified noises and then, when he realizes it's just a roll of Mentos, there's another doomed noise.

As Bruce makes a sweeping U-turn, changing direction because of streets blocked off due to bomb threats in Trafalgar Square, Primal Scream's "Rocks Off" blasts out and the Jaguar speeds up, careening around a corner, noise from the song pouring over us, and the windows are rolled down, wind rushing in, and every time Jamie touches me I'm seeing blue and leaping around with desire and then she kicks off her shoes and swings her legs up over my thighs so her feet lie across Bentley's lap and I'm leaning down, lights from the city flashing around us.

"You're so beautiful," she's whispering to me as my head drops down to hers, my face burning.

One or two more traffic delays provoke cursing. Bentley quarrels briefly with Bruce until he finds a still of Matthew McConaughey romping in a stream that someone left in the backseat and Bentley ends tip staring at it, occupied, and finally Bruce maneuvers the Jaguar into a driveway where a small gate slides open and when we pass through it a blinding light shoots out from points on the roof of the black house we've driven up to and then that light slowly fades as Bruce pulls out some kind of remote device and touches a few buttons and once it's dark everything vanishes except for the clouds in the open sky above us.

8

Inside the black house there's a doorway that I follow Jamie through and Bentley and Bruce and Tammy scatter, dispersing upstairs to bedrooms, and Jamie and I are in a dark place, and she's lighting candles and offering me a drink that smells like Sambuca and we both pop a Xanax to come off the coke before heading toward a hot bath in a room that smells of freshly painted walls where more candles are lit and Jamie tears off the Jil Sander suit and helps me undress, and she finally pulls my Calvin Klein boxer-jockeys off while I'm on the bathroom floor, delirious and giggling, my legs up in the air, Jamie standing over me, candlelight throwing her elongated shadow over the walls and ceiling, and my hand's reaching for her ass and then we're in the water.

After the bath she pushes me onto a sprawling bed and I'm drugged out and turned on and a Tori Amos CD plays softly in the background and then I'm lying on my side, marveling at her, my hand running along the sparse hair on her cunt, fingers slipping in and out, strumming along it, while I let her suck on my tongue.

"Listen," she keeps whispering, breaking away.

"What, baby?" I whisper back. "What is it?"

She doesn't want to f**k so she starts giving me head and I swing her around and start eating her pu**y which is hot and tight and I'm taking it slow, licking with long strokes of my tongue, sometimes all the way up to her ass**le spread above me, and then driving the tongue in deeper and faster, sometimes stiffening it, making my tongue rigid and f**king her with it, then taking as much of her pu**y into my mouth as I can, sucking on the whole thing, and then I flick the tip of my tongue over her clit and that's when she sits up on my face, humping it while I reach up, massaging her ni**les as she comes touching her clit with her middle finger, my mouth slobbering all over her hand, and she's making weeping sounds and when I come she tries to steady my hips with her chest because they're thrusting up involuntarily and with her hand pumping my c**k I shoot all over her, ejaculating endlessly and so hard I have to bury my face and mouth back into her pu**y to muffle the shouts my orgasm forces me to make and then I drop back, wetness from her vagina smeared all over my chin, lips, nose, and then it's silent except for my breathing. The CD that was playing has stopped, a few candles have burned out, I'm spinning.