Glamorama

Glamorama Page 140

"Fabulous," Sam gushes. "I will see you out there. And remember-hurry. They look bulky but they can move."

"Are you sure this is all right?"

"I'm twenty-six," Sam says. "I can do what I want. Let's boogie."

"Um."

"Be careful on your way out," Sam says. "One of them usually carries a bottle of hydrochloric acid and is basically very stern." Sam pauses. "They used to work at the Israeli embassy."

"Is that a club?"

Sam Ho stops smiling and relaxes and touches the side of my face tenderly. "You're so mainstream," he murmurs.

I'm in the middle of telling him, "Hey, I'm just a very quiet club-goer-but I'm very tuned in," when he runs over to the bodyguards, points at me and says something that causes Bodyguard #1 to seriously blanch and then they both nod reluctantly as Sam scampers out of the room and Bodyguard #2 nods at #1 and follows Sam while Bodyguard #1 turns his attention to me, staring, and I turn away looking like I'm figuring out what I should be doing, hopelessly play with a Marlboro,

I glance over at the Christian Bale guy, who's still standing just a foot away at the bar, and leaning in, I ask, "Are we in the same movie?" He just starts scowling.

On cue, a girl sitting in one of the burgundy velvet booths yells her approval when Iggy Pop's "Lust for Life" blasts out and she jumps up onto a platform, tearing off a Stussy dress and an Adidas T-shirt and in only her bra and Doc Martens starts thrashing around, twisting, doing what looks like the br**ststroke, and at the precise moment Bodyguard, #I glances over at her a production assistant I didn't notice before cues me by whispering, "Now. Go, now!" and I casually pogo out of the VIP room while all the extras cheer.

3

In the alley outside Pylos I jump over the rope and tumble into a crowd of hip-hop enthusiasts waiting in the rain to gain entrance and once I've pushed through them I spin around to see if either of the bodyguards has followed me but I think I lost them when I pretended to duck into a DJ booth. Sam's already in the limo, sticking his head out the window, calling "Hey! Hey!" as I sprint over to the car and yell "Hurry!" to the driver. The limo skids out of the alley and Into Charing Cross Road, horns echoing behind us, and Sam has broken into the minibar, popping open a split of champagne, drinking straight from the bottle and finishing it in less than a minute while I just stare tiredly and then he starts shouting at the driver, "Go faster go faster, go faster!" and keeps trying to hold my hand. In his calmer moments Sam shows me his crystals, demands LSD, hands me a pamphlet about brainwave harmonizers, sings along to "Lust for Life" as it bursts from speakers in the back of the limo and he's drinking deeply from a bottle of Absolut and shouting "I'm a pinhead!" while sticking his head out the sunroof as the limo races through the drizzle back to the house.

"I'm seeing Bobby, I'm seeing Bobby," he singsongs, blitzed out, bouncing up and down on the seat.

I light a cigarette, trying to perfect my scowling. "Can you please mellow out?"

The limousine stops in front of the darkened house and then, once the gate opens, slowly pulls into the driveway. The roof lights immediately flash on, blinding us even through the limousine's tinted windows, then slowly fade.

Sam Ho opens the door and jumps out drunkenly, shambling toward the darkness of the house. At an upstairs window a silhouette appears, peering from behind a blind, and then the light goes out. "Hey Sam," I call, swinging my legs out of the limo. "There's an alarm system-be careful." But he's gone. Above us the sky has cleared and there's really nothing up there except for half a moon.

The driver waits for me to step from the limo and I'm suddenly surprised by how tired I am. I get out of the car and stretch, and then, just standing there, avoiding the house and what's going on within it, light a cigarette.

"Were we followed?" I ask the driver.

"No." He shakes his head curtly.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"The second unit took care of it," he says.

"Hmm." I take a drag off the cigarette, flick it away.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asks.

I consider the offer. "No. No, I don't think so."

"Well then, good night." The driver closes the door I just stepped out of and walks around the car, back to the driver's side.

"Hey," I call out.

He glances up.

"Do you know a guy named Fred Palakon?"