Glamorama

"I want techno techno techno," I stress, suddenly noticing a half-eaten Oriental chicken salad on a plate with Anna Wintour's face on it at the end of the table.

"I... didn't order that," Palakon says, startled, and then, looking at the plate, asks, "Who is that?"

"That's Anna Wintour."

"No." He cranes his neck. "It isn't."

I push some of the rice noodles and a tiny slice of mandarin away, revealing the entire face, sans sunglasses.

"Oh. You're right."

"Really happening place," I yawn.

A waitress walks by. I whistle for her to stop.

"Hey baby, I'll have an ice beer."

She nods. I watch her move away, thinking two words: not bad.

"Don't you have a runway show at six?" Palakon asks.

"I'm a model. I'm a lush. But it's cool. I'm cool." I suddenly realize something. "Wait-is this like an intervention or something?" I ask. "Because I've laid off the blow for-jeez, it must be weeks now."

"Mr. Ward," Palakon starts, his patience snapping. "Supposedly you dated this girl."

"I dated Ashley Fields?" I ask.

"Her name is Jamie Fields and at one point somewhere in your past yes, you did."

"I'm not interested in any of this, man," I point out. "I thought you were a DJ, man."

"Jamie Fields disappeared three weeks ago from the set of an independently financed movie that was being shot in London. The last sightings of Jamie Fields were at the Armani store on Sloane Street and L'Odeon on Regent Street." Palakon sighs, flips through his file. "She has not been heard from since she left the set."

"Maybe she didn't like the script." I shrug. "Maybe she felt they didn't develop her character well enough. It happens, man."

"How"-Palakon looks down at his file, confused-"would you know?"

"Proceed, O Cool One," I say casually.

"There are certain individuals who would be pleased if she was found," Palakon says. "There are certain individuals who would like her brought back to America."

"Like her agent and stuff?"

Palakon, at the instant I say this, immediately relaxes, almost as if he suddenly realizes something, and it makes him smile widely for the first time since I sat down and he says, "Yes. Her agent. Yes."

"Cool."

"There have been unconfirmed sightings in Bristol, but that was ten days ago," Palakon says. "Basically we have not been able to locate her."

"Baby?" I lean in again.

"Er, yes?" He leans in too.

'"You're pitching a concept nobody gets," I say quietly.

"I see."

"So she's an MTA?"

"Excuse me?"

"Model-turned-actress?"

"I suppose so."

Models are sashaying endlessly down runways on the giant screen above the Arc de Triomphe, even Chloe a couple of times.

"Did you ever see me on the cover of YouthQuake magazine?" I ask suspiciously.

"Er... yes." Palakon has trouble admitting this, for some reason.

"Cool." I pause. "Can I borrow two hundred dollars from you?"

"No."

"Cool. That's cool."

"This is superfluous," he mutters. "Totally superfluous."

"What does that mean? That I'm a jerk? That I'm some kind of ass**le? That I'm a bakehead?"

"No, Mr. Ward," Palakon sighs. "It doesn't mean any of those things."

"Listen-you've got the wrong guy," I say. "I'm outta here." I stand up. "Spare me."

Palakon looks up at me and with a dreamy gaze says, "We're offering you three hundred thousand dollars if you find her."

There's no hesitation. I sit back down.

"Plus all traveling expenses," he adds.

"Why... me, dude?" I'm asking.

"She was in love with you, Mr. Ward," Palakon says loudly, startling me. "At least according to her journal entries for the year 1986."

"How... did you get those?" I ask.

"Her parents showed them to us."

"Oh man," I groan. "Why don't they come to me, then? What are you- their flunky? That was last decade, man."

"Basically," he says, reddening, "I'm simply here, Mr. Ward, to make an offer. Three hundred thousand dollars to find Jamie Fields and bring her back to the States. That's it. You seem to have meant a lot to this girl, whether you remember her or not. We think you might be able to... sway her."