Glamorama

"It's Lauren." She looks at me dully.

"Lauren, ri-i-ight."

"Yeah," she says in a hard way. "Lauren Hynde? Remember now?"

I pause, freaked. "Gosh. Lauren Hynde. Whoa..."

"Do you know who I am now?" she asks.

"Oh baby, I'm really..." Stumped, I admit, "You know, they say Klonopin causes short-term memory loss, so-"

"Why don't we start with this: I'm Chloe's friend."

"Yeah, yeah," I say, trying to get comfortable. "We were just talking about you."

"Mmm." She starts moving down an aisle, running her hand along the rim of the CD racks, moving away from me.

I follow. "Yeah, it was a totally nice, um, chat, y'know?"

"What about?"

"Just, y'know, positive things."

She keeps walking and I hang back, taking my sunglasses off to check the body beneath the open coat: thin with full br**sts, long and shapely legs, short blond hair, everything else-eyes, teeth, lips, whatever-equally nice. I catch up, keep moving with her, casually swinging the basket of CDs at my side.

"So you remember me from Camden?" I ask.

"Oh yeah," she says half-scornfully. "I remember you."

"Well, did you act this way at college or am I acting different?"

She stops moving and turns to face me. "You really don't remember who I am, do you, Victor?"

"Yes I do. You're Lauren Hynde." I pause. "But y'know, I was away a lot and Klonopin causes long-term memory loss."

"I thought it caused short-term memory loss."

"See-I already can't remember."

"Oh god, forget it."

She's about to turn away when I ask, "Am I the same?"

She looks me over carefully. "Pretty much, I guess." She focuses on my head, scanning my face. "Well, I don't think you had those sideburns."

An opening that I leap into. "Learn to love the sideburns, baby. They're your best friends. Pet the sideburns." I lean in, offer my profile, purring.

She just looks at me like I've lost it.

"What? What is it?" I ask. "Pet the sideburns, baby."

"Pet the sideburns?"

"People worship the sideburns, baby."

"You know people who worship hair?" she asks, semi-appalled. "You know people who want to look twenty forever?"

I wave a fly away. I move into another mode.

"So what's going oft, Lauren Hynde? God you look great. What's the story? Where've you been?" Maybe I ask this with the wrong tone, because she segues into the inevitable.

"I ran into Chloe at Patricia Field's last week," she says.

"Patricia Field's apartment?" I ask, impressed.

"No," she says, looking at me strangely. "Her store, dummy."

"Oh. That's cool."

A long pause, during which various girls pass by. A couple of them say hi to me but I casually ignore them. Lauren eyes them skeptically, troubled, which is a good sign.

"Um, I'm unsure of what we were talking about-"

My beeper goes off. I check the number: Alison.

"Who's that?" Lauren asks.

"Oh, y'know, probably just another call about unionizing male models." I shrug, then add, after a pause, "I'm a model."

"Unionizing male models?" She starts walking away again, which only makes me want to follow her more.

"You say that like it's a joke."

"I think you need committed people to form a union, Victor."

"Hey, no dark sarcasm in the classroom."

"This is ridiculous," she says. "I've gotta go."

"Why?"

"I'm having lunch with someone." Her hand is actually trembling as she runs it through her hair.

"Who?" I ask.

"Why?" she asks back.

"A guy?"

"Victor."

"Aw, come on."

"Baxter Priestly, actually, if you must know."

"Oh great," I groan. "Who is this little shit? I mean, spare me, baby."

"Victor, Chloe and I are friends. I assume you know this," she says, staring straight at me. "At least you're supposed to know this."

"Why am I supposed to know this?" I smile.

"Because she's your girlfriend?" she asks, her mouth hanging open.

"That's an excuse?"