Glamorama
Page 219The only things that suggest living: a wind billows across the wreckage, the moon rises into an expanse of sky so dark it's almost abstract, confetti and glitter continue raining down. Aviation fuel starts burning the trees in the forest, the word CANCELED appears on a big black arrival board at JFK airport in New York, and the next morning, as the sun rises gently over cleanup crews, church bells start ringing and psychics start calling in with tips and then the gossip begins.
5
9
I'm walking through Washington Square Park, carrying a Kenneth Cole leather portfolio that holds my lawbooks and a bottle of Evian water. I'm dressed casually, in Tommy Hilfiger jeans, a camel-hair sweater, a wool overcoat from Burberrys. I'm stepping out of the way of Rollerbladers and avoiding clusters of Japanese NYU film students shooting movies. From a nearby boom box Jamaican trip-hop plays, from another boom box the Eagles' "New Kid in Town," and I'm smiling to myself. My beeper keeps going off. Chris Cuomo keeps calling, as does Alison Poole, whom I rather like and plan to see later this evening. On University, I run into my newly appointed guru and spiritual adviser, Deepak. Deepak is wearing a Donna Karan suit and Diesel sunglasses, smoking a cigar. "Partagas Perfecto," he purrs in a distinct Indian accent. I purr back "Hoo-ha" admiringly. We exchange opinions about a trendy new restaurant (oh, there are so many) and the upcoming photo shoot I'm doing for George magazine, how someone's AIDS has gone into remission, how someone's liver disease has been cured, the exorcism of a haunted town house in Gramercy Park, the evil spirits that were flushed out by the goodwill of angels.
"That's so brill, man," I'm saying. "That's so genius."
"You see that bench?" Deepak says.
"Yes," I say.
"You think it's a bench," Deepak says. "But it isn't."
I smile patiently.
"It's also you," Deepak says. "You, Victor, are also that bench."
"I know I've changed," I tell Deepak. "I'm a different person now."
Deepak bows slightly again.
"I am that bench," I hear myself say.
"You see that pigeon?" Deepak asks.
"Baby, I've gotta run," I interrupt. "I'll catch you later."
"Don't fear the reaper, Victor," Deepak says, walking away.
I'm nodding mindlessly, a vacant grin pasted on my face, until I turn around and mutter to myself, "I am the f**king reaper, Deepak," and a pretty girl smiles at me from underneath an awning and it's Wednesday and late afternoon and getting dark.
8
After a private workout with Reed, my personal trainer, I take a shower in the Philippe Starck locker room and as I'm standing in front of a mirror, a white Ralph Lauren towel wrapped around my waist, I notice Reed standing behind me, wearing a black Helmut Lang leather jacket. I'm swigging from an Evian bottle. I'm rubbing Clinique turnaround lotion into my face. I just brushed past a model named Mark Vanderloo, who recited a mininarrative about his life that was of no interest to me. A lounge version of "Wichita Lineman" is piped through the gym's sound system and I'm grooving out on it in my own way.
"Buddy?" Reed says, his voice thick.
"Yeah?" I turn around.
"Give Reed a hug."
A pause in which to consider things. To wipe my hands on the towel wrapped around my waist.
"Why... man?"
"Because you've really come a long way, man," Reed says, his voice filled with emotion. "It's weird but I'm really choked up by all you've accomplished."
"Hey Reed, I couldn't have done it without you, man," I'm saying. "You deserve a bonus. You really got me into shape."
"And your attitude is impeccable," Reed adds.
"No more drinking binges, I've cut down on partying, law school's great, I'm in a long-term relationship." I slip on a Brooks Brothers T-shirt. "I've stopped seriously deluding myself and I'm rereading Dostoyevsky. I owe it all to you, man."
"And you stopped smoking," Reed says.
"Yep."
"And your body fat's down to seven percent."
"Oh man."
"You're the kind of guy, Victor, that makes this job worthwhile." Reed chokes back a sob. "I mean that."
"I know, man." I rest a hand on his shoulder.