Glamorama
Page 47"Instead of like..."
"The right amount of heroin, Victor."
"Christ," I mutter.
"Oh boy, Victor." Conrad smirks. "Farm living's the life for you."
"I'd rather be a farmer than hang out with people who drink their own blood, you f**king hippie vampires."
"Fitz is also suffering from binocular dysphoria and carpal tunnel syndrome."
"Shine on, you crazy diamond." I rummage in my coat pocket and start handing out free drink tickets. "Well, I guess I'm here to tell you I'm quitting the band and these are only good between 11:46 and 12:01 tonight."
"So that's it?" Conrad asks. "You're just quitting?"
"I give you my blessing to continue," I say, placing two free-drink tickets on Fitz's leg.
"Like you even care, Victor," Conrad says.
"It's just this whole indie-rock scene equals yuck," I say. "Y'know what I'm saying?"
Conrad just stares at Fitz.
"Conrad, hey, maybe we should go bungee jumping with Duane and Kitty this weekend," Aztec says. "How about it, Conrad? Conrad?" Pause. "Conrad?"
Conrad continues to stare at Fitz, and as I'm leaving he says, "Has anybody realized that our drummer is the most lucid person in this band?"
17
Walking up Lafayette unable to shake off the feeling of being followed and stopping on the corner of East Fourth I catch my reflection superimposed in the glass covering of an Armani Exchange ad and it's merging with the sepia-toned photo of a male model until both of us are melded together and it's hard to turn away but except for the sound of my beeper going off the city suddenly goes quiet, the dry air crackling not with static but with something else, something less. Cabs lumber by silently, someone dressed exactly like me crosses the street, three beautiful girls pass by, each maybe sixteen and eyeing me, trailed by a thug with a camcorder, the muted, dissonant strains of Moby float from the open doors of the Crunch gym across the street where on the building above it a giant billboard advertises in huge black block letters the word TEMPURA. But someone's calling "Cut!" and the noise from the construction site of the new Gap behind me and the beeper going off-for some freaky reason it's the number of Indochine-moves me toward a phone booth where before dialing I imagine a naked Lauren Hynde striding toward me in a suite at the Delano with a deeper sense of purpose than I can muster. Alison picks up.
"I need to make a reservation," I say, trying to disguise my voice.
"I've got something I want to tell you," she says.
"What?" I gulp. "Y-you used to be a man?"
"That didn't sound like, uh, call-waiting, baby."
"It's a new kind of call-waiting. It simulates the sound of someone who's dating a useless ass**le angrily knocking their phone against a wall."
"Essential, baby, you're essential."
"I want you here at Indochine within two minutes."
"I'm inundated, baby, totally inundated."
"What is this? Big-word day?" she snaps. "Just get that ass over here."
"That ass has got to... see someone."
"Jesus, Victor, the pregnant pause combined with `someone' can only mean one person: that idiot you date."
"Baby, I'll see you tonight," I fake-purr.
"She's not at home, Medusa."
"You're right. She's at Spy Bar shooting a Japanese TV commercial and-"
"Damnit, Alison, you-"
"-I'm in a mood to screw things up. I need to be distracted from that mood, Victor," Alison warns. "I need to be distracted from screwing things up."
"You're so phony, baby, it stings," I sigh. "Ouch," I add. "That was for, um, emphasis."
"Oh Chloe, I'm so sorry. He came on to me. He was un animale. He told me he doesn't even wuv you."
"What's your sick little point, baby?"
"I just don't want to share you anymore, Victor," Alison says, sighing as if she could care less. "I'm pretty sure I came to that conclusion at the Alfaro show."