Glamorama

I start feeling my face and then ask worriedly, "Is my head really that big?"

She focuses in on the right photo: Chloe in a practiced daze, me staring intently into the paparazzi's lens.

"Yes, that looks like you," she says. "And that's Chloe Byrnes, right?"

"I date her," I say, then, "I mean, I used to date her."

"Well, I dated Peter Morton," she says, handing back the magazine. "Peter Morton and I used to get photographed together too."

"So you're saying we're in the same boat?" I ask.

"Well, actually we are," she says, gesturing around, rolling her eyes and groaning inwardly at the line she has to deliver.

"Well, yeah, yes," I faux-chuckle. "That we, um, are."

"Marina," she says. "Marina Cannon."

"Hey, Victor Ward." I pause, letting the name resonate, then offer my hand and she takes it lightly. "And you're off to..." I leave an opening for the name of a place.

"Paris, she says. "Actually, Cherbourg and then Paris."

"Why Paris?" I ask. Then, quite suavely, "Though of course, why not?"

"Oh..." She pauses, looks at all that boring black water. "Let's just say certain individuals weren't sticking to the plan and leave it at that."

I immediately sense boyfriend troubles and pounce gingerly. "What's his name?" I ask softly.

"Gavin," she says, a bit perturbed but still smiling.

I make a face, mock-shiver. "Ooh, I don't trust anyone named Gavin." I make another face, grimacing, holding the expression until she notices, then ask casually, "Where's Gavin now?"

"Gavin plans to run with the bulls in Pamplona," she says dryly.

"He's a basketball player?" I ask, wilting. "I thought the Bulls were in Chicago."

She just stares at me, a flicker of panic creasing her features. Suddenly the g*y German youth bounds down the stairs onto the pool deck, wearing a Garth Brooks tour T-shirt and giant black Nikes. He spots me and starts bounding over. I immediately feign sleep. Soon I feel a shadow cross my face and linger, followed by the sounds of footsteps bounding away. When I feel enough time has passed I open my eyes. Countless Japanese splash around in the pool. The noon whistle goes off. Elderly report: they're everywhere.

"Someone just... inspected you," Marina says.

"Just a fan. A hanger-on," I shrug. "It's tough but I'm used to it. So what do you do?"

"I model," she says simply. "Part time."

I sit up, swing my legs across the chaise, then realize the move is a little too urgent and reach for the light beer instead.

"But just a little bit," she adds, noticing. "Just here and there."

"Baby, that is so cool," I'm saying. "I knew you were a model. I knew you were recognizable."

"Well, I'm not Chloe Byrnes but I do okay."

"Yeah, Chloe...," I say "wistfully."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Marina says and then-when I fail to say anything else-adds, "Anyway, I'm off to visit friends and do, oh, touristy things."

Chapter Ten

"Hey, roam if you want to. That's my motto, baby."

"So why are you sailing?" she asks. "Afraid to fly?" "I saw The Poseidon Adventure twenty times as a small, frightened child," I explain. "My favorite line in movies is 'My God-it's a giant wall of water, heading straight for us."'

A long pause on Marina's part that I'm responsible for, and then, "That's... your answer?"

"I'm going to London, babe," I say quickly. "I'm looking for a friend." I realize something, my eyes gliding over her body, and add, "But I'm in no hurry."

"So why do you have to find this friend?"

"Off the record? It's a long story."

"We're not going anywhere."

"Well, I was about to host this MTV show-"

"Oh really?" she asks, repositioning herself on the chaise. "About what?"

Without stalling: "Well, it was just going to be about me. My life, y'know, what I do during an average day."

"I... see," she says, somewhat contemplatively.

"And the whole modeling grind was getting me down and being quasi-famous was just getting too overwhelming so"-I breathe in for emphasis -"I decided to chuck it all and I thought, man, Europe's not that far away. But I didn't really want to participate in that whole Prague scene. I didn't want to sit in a moldy cafe with my PowerBook and deal with chicks from RISD. I just wanted to write some poetry and, y'know, make some videos... get away from that whole cyberspace scene. Just chill out... Get back to my roots. Gotta get back, back to my roots." I sip the light beer confidently. "Come back down to earth and get back to my roots."