Glamorama

Glamorama Page 78

Alison grabs the vial away from me and says, "No, that's, er, something else." She hands me the other vial.

Already wired, I'm not capable of stopping myself from kissing her on the nose, an involuntary reaction to whatever I just snorted.

"Oh hot," she sneers miserably. "How hot."

Unable to move my mouth, I gurgle, "I'm speechless too."

"That little conversation we had, Victor, upset me very much," Alison groans, fixing her hair, wiping her nose with Kleenex. She looks at my innocent face in the mirror, while I stand behind her doing a few more hits. "Oh please, Victor, don't do this-do not do this."

"When?" I'm shouting out. "What in the hell-"

"About ninety minutes ago? Stop acting like such an idiot. I know you're a guy who's not exactly on the ball, but please-even this could not get past you."

I hand back the vial, wiping my nose, and then say very quietly, hoping to reassure her, "Baby, I don't know what you're talking about."

"That's the problem, Victor," she screams. "You never know."

"Baby, baby-"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," she screams, whirling away from her reflection. "You stand in front of me just ninety minutes ago outside my apartment and tell me it's all over-that you're in love with Lauren Hynde? That you're dumping Chloe for her? Remember that, you humongous idiot?"

"Wait a minute," I say, holding up my hands, both of which she smacks at. "You're really coked up and you need a tranquilizer and you need to get your facts straight-"

"Are you saying this didn't happen, Victor?" she shouts, grabbing at me.

Holding her back, I look intently into her face and offer, "I'm not saying it didn't happen, Alison." I breathe in. "I'm just saying that I wasn't conscious when this occurred and I guess I'm saying that you weren't conscious either."

"Are you telling me we didn't have this conversation?" she screams. "Are you telling me I hallucinated it?"

I stare at her. "Well, in a nutshell, yeah."

Someone starts knocking on the bathroom door, which provokes Alison into some kind of massive freak-out. I grab her by the shoulders and turn her around to face me.

"Baby, I was doing my MTV 'House of Style' interview"-I check the watch I'm not wearing-"ninety minutes ago, so-"

"Victor, it was you!" she shouts, pushing me away from her. "You were standing there outside my place telling me that-"

"You're wasted!" I cry out. "I'm leaving and yeah, baby-it is all over. I'm outta here and of this I'm certain!"

"If you think Damien's ever going to let you open a f**king door let alone a club after he finds out you're f**king his little girlfriend you're more pitifully deluded than I ever thought possible."

"That"-I stop, look back at her questioningly-"doesn't really mean anything to me."

I swing the door open, Alison standing motionless behind me. A whole group of people squeeze past me and though they probably despise Alison they decide to surround her and take notes while she sobs, her face a wreck.

"You are not a player," is the last thing Alison ever screams at me.

I slam the door shut.

We'll slide down the surface of things ...

Lauren stands with Jason London and Elle Macpherson exchanging recipe tips for smart drinks even though someone shockingly famous's penis exploded when his smart drink was mixed with "the wrong elements" and everyone goes "oooh" but Lauren's not really listening because she's watching Damien schmoozing a group that includes Demi Moore, Veronica Webb and Paulina Porizkova, and when Elle kisses me on the cheek and compliments my stubble Lauren abruptly looks away from Damien and just stares at me blankly-a replicant-and I wipe my nose and move toward her, suddenly in a very huggy mood.

"Have you heard?" she asks, lighting a cigarette.

"That I'm in dire need of a crisis-management team? Yes."

"Giorgio Armani couldn't make it because he's in rehearsals for 'Saturday Night Live,' which he's hosting."

"Dig it," I murmur.

"What did Alison want to show you?" she asks. "The third claw growing out of her ass?"

I grab a martini from a passing waiter. "No."

"Oh damnit, Victor," she groans. "Just live up to it."

Chloe stands in the middle of the room chatting with Winona Ryder and Billy Norwich, and Baxter Priestly is perched nearby drinking a tiny white-wine spritzer and people squeezing past us block the view from where Chloe and Damien stand of my hand clutching Lauren's while Lauren keeps staring at Damien, who's touching the black fabric of Veronica Webb's dress and saying things like "Love the dress but it's a tad Dracula-y, baby," and the girls laugh and Veronica grabs his hand playfully and Lauren's hand squeezes mine tightly.