Glamorama

Glamorama Page 106

"Well, what about a drink? It's not that late." I check the nonexistent watch again. "I've gotta stop doing that."

"It actually is getting late," she says. "I should get to sleep."

"You want to come by my room? For a drink?" I ask, following her as she walks away from the railing. "I have an unopened fruit basket in my room that we can share. I'll be on my best behavior."

"That's very sweet, Victor," she says. "But I'm tired."

"I want to come to Paris," I say suddenly.

Marina stops walking and turns to me. "Why?"

"Can I?" I ask. "I mean, we don't have to stay at the same place but can I like travel with you?"

"What about London?"

"London can wait."

"You're being impulsive," she says apprehensively, resuming walking.

"It's one of my many really really great qualities."

"Listen, let's just..." She sighs. "Let's just see how things go."

"Things are going fine," I say. "Things can only get better. Look, I'm embarrassed to admit this, but

I've just spent the last hour gazing at you and and and now I want to come to Paris."

"What do you want me to say to that?"

"Just say yeah, cool, hip. just say, 'Yes, Victor, you can come to Paris with me,"' I tell her and then, mock-seriously: "You know, I don't need an invitation, baby- I can just simply follow you."

"So you'd be, um, like stalking me through Paris?"

"Just say, 'Victor, you may come with me-I give you my permission,' and then I'll bow and kiss your feet and-"

"But I don't know if I can say that yet."

"I'm saving you the embarrassment of admitting what you really want to express."

"You have no idea what I want to express."

"But I know all about you now."

"But I don't know anything about you."

"Hey." I stop walking, spread my arms out wide. "This is all you need to know."

She stares, smiling. I stare back until I have to look away.

"Will you at least join me for dinner tomorrow night?" I ask "bashfully."

"That would be..." She stops, considering something.

"Um, babe? I'm waiting."

"That would be..." She pauses again, looking out past me at all that blackness.

I start chewing a nail, then check my pockets for Kleenex, a cigarette, Mentos, any prop to keep me occupied.

"That would be... nice."

I let out a great sigh of relief and hold my hand over my heart as if I've just recovered from an enormous blow. We aren't miked anymore when we say good night and the crew's been waved away and there's another kiss and in that kiss I can't help but sense some kind of pattern being revealed, and then departure.

9

While I'm getting dressed to meet Marina at the Queen's Grill Lounge at 7:30 before dinner with the Wallaces, the captain makes an announcement over the intercom, something about a distress signal emanating from a shipping vessel that the QE2 will be intercepting around 9 in order to pick up a diabetic crewman who ran out of insulin, and walking to the lounge I'm passing dozens of worried old people asking if this unscheduled stop is going to delay the arrival time at Southampton and the exceedingly patient ship directors, harried but sincere, assure them it will not and I'm wondering what if it f**king does? You're old. If I was a ship director my answer would've been, "It doesn't matter, you'll be dead before we dock this boat."

Tonight my hair's slicked back, I used a tiny splash of cologne, I'm wearing the Comme des Garqons tuxedo-freshly pressed-and I'm feeling semi-retro. When I called Marina this morning and suggested maybe lunch she said she planned to spend the day pampering herself out of her funk-facial, massage, yoga, aromatherapy, palm reading-and since I already felt linked to her I didn't have to be told to spend the day basically keeping to myself, bumming around, goofing off in the gym, replaying imaginary conversations with her while on the StairMaster, rehearsing the words I'd use during sex.

I order a martini, positioning myself on a plush antique couch by the bar where a steward lights my cigarette and 7:30 turns into 8:00 rather suddenly and I've ordered another martini and smoked two more Marlboro Lights, staring at the extras. It's a formal night on the ship and men are wearing tuxedos (I actually don't spot a single decent one) and cheesy sequined gowns hang off old women, everyone passing by on their way to various dining rooms, chattering incessantly about absolutely nothing.