Glamorama

"But Bobby, I'm not... political," I blurt out vaguely.

"Everyone is, Victor," Bobby says, turning away again. "It's something you can't help."

My only response is to gulp down the rest of the Cosmopolitan.

"You need to get your worldview straightened out," Bobby's telling me. "You need to get your information about the world straightened out."

"We're killing civilians," I whisper.

"Twenty-five thousand homicides were committed in our country last year, Victor."

"But... I didn't commit any of them, Bobby."

Bobby smiles patiently, making his way back to where I'm sitting. I look up at him, hopefully.

"Is it so much better to be uninvolved, Victor?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I think it is."

"Everyone's involved," he whispers back. "That's something you need to know."

"I'm just, man, I'm just, man, I'm just-"

"Victor-"

"-man, having a hard time having to, like, justify this and..." I stare at him pleadingly.

"I don't think you have to justify anything, man."

"Bobby, I'm an... American, y'know?"

"Hey Victor," Bobby says, staring down at me. "So am I."

"Why me, Bobby?" I ask. "Why do you trust me?"

"Because you think the Gaza Strip is a particularly lascivious move an erotic dancer makes," Bobby says. "Because you think the PLO recorded the singles 'Don't Bring Me Down' and 'Evil Woman.'"

Silence until the phone rings. Bobby picks up. Bruce stops playing the guitar. It's the film crew from outside and they're ready. Bobby tells them we'll be right out. The film crew inside is already packing it in. The director, obviously satisfied, confers with Bobby, who keeps nodding while staring over at Bruce. On cue Tammy, Bentley and Jamie walk down the circular spiral staircase, and outside the film crew shoots us three times walking from the front door to the black Citroen, the six of us laughing, Bentley leading the way, Jamie and Bobby holding on to each other "playfully," Bruce and I flanking Tammy and she's clasping our hands, looking at each of us happily, because in the movie the crew outside is shooting I'm supposed to be in love with her. Jamie has to take a black Mercedes to Natacha because she's wearing a dress that cost $30,000.

And at Natacha MTV's filming a party upstairs where the girls are all wasted and beautiful and the guys are looking their hunkiest and everyone's wearing sunglasses and waiting for assistants to light their cigarettes and there's another party downstairs where Lucien Pellat-Finet is hanging out with the hat designer Christian Liagre and Andre Walker shows up on the arm of Claudia Schiffer who's wearing a feathered jumpsuit and has a red pageboy and Galliano's wearing a little black trilby hat and Christian Louboutin plays "Je T'Aime" on the piano with Stephanie Marais by his side singing the Jane Birkin part and we're receiving fans at the table we're slouched at, people flocking around us, whispering things, the prerequisite number of oohs and aahs, caviar sitting untouched on silver plates in front of us and it's all really youthquakey and the mood is light until Ralph and Ricky Lauren show up and tonight's theme is the unbearable lightness of being and everything is ubiquitous, the smell of shit rising up faintly from somewhere and floating all over the room.

"Victor," Bobby warns, after someone's handed me a packet of cocaine, reminding me of my assignment tomorrow. "And hey Bentley, pay attention."

Bentley's glassy-eyed from spending most of the day in a tanning bed and he's spacing out on good-looking teenage guys in muscle Ts. My foot has fallen asleep, the tingling moving slowly up my leg, my eyes glancing over at my name on tonight's invite. Photographers are taking pictures of our table. Tammy gazes away, her mouth caked with Urban Decay lipstick.

"He's madly in love with that busboy." Jamie smiles, lighting a cigarette.

We all turn our heads.

"I read an article about good-looking busboys in Time magazine." Bentley shrugs. "What can I say? I'm easily influenced."

"We're not going ahead with the Venice project," Bobby says loudly, over the din of the party.

"Harry's Bar?" Bruce asks, turning away from Tammy.

"No." Bobby shakes his head while waving to someone across the room.

Idly, without asking, I realize this means Harry's Bar will not be blown up.

In the darkness downstairs at Natacha an MTV camera crew interrupts Bobby's discussion of something called the "Band on the Run" project. A VJ begs Bobby and Jamie and Bentley to move closer together so the camera can get all three of them in the frame. Happily, they comply.