Glamorama

Glamorama Page 84

Lauren quickly disengages herself from me.

"Damien?" I ask.

The silhouette starts moving closer.

"Hey Damien?" I'm whispering, backing away.

As the silhouette moves closer it raises a hand, holding what looks like a rolled-up newspaper.

"Damien?" I'm whispering over and over.

The spotlight beam moves across the room, scanning it again, slowly catching everything in its glare, and as it passes over the silhouette's face, illuminating it, my mouth opens in confusion and then Hurley Thompson rushes at me, shouting, "You f**ker!"

His fist slams against the side of my face before I can raise my arm up and in the background Lauren's crying out for me and after I manage to raise up my arms to block his blows Hurley changes position and starts lifting me up when each thrust of his fists reaches my stomach and chest and then I'm falling, gasping for help, and Hurley's leaning down, pausing before he slaps my head with the rolled-up newspaper, hissing into my ear, "I know what you did, you f**k, I know what you said, you dumb f**k," and then he steps on my face and when he's gone I finally lift my head and through totally blurry vision I can make out Lauren standing by the exit and she flicks a switch and the room explodes with light and I'm shielding my eyes, calling out for her, but she doesn't answer.

Pages of the newspaper are scattered around me-it's tomorrow's News and on the page I'm looking down at, the blood drooling from my mouth staining the paper, is Buddy Seagull's column, the headline reading HURLEY THOMPSON FLEES SC3 AMID RUMORS OF DRUGS AND ABUSE, and there's a photo of Hurley and Sherry Gibson in "happier times" and on the bottom of the page in the boxed section called "What's Going On Here?" is a photo whose graininess suggests it was taken with a telephoto lens and it's of someone who's supposed to be me kissing Lauren Hynde on the mouth, our eyes closed, a caption in bold letters reading IT BOY VICTOR WARD SMOOCHING ACTRESS HYNDE AT GALA PREMIERE -DOES CHLOE KNOW?, and blood dripping from my face keeps swirling all over the paper and I stagger up and when I look in the mirror above the bar I try to smooth things out but after touching my mouth and trying to slick my hair back I end up wiping blood all over my forehead and after trying to get it off with a napkin I'm running downstairs.

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

Everyone who was at the dinner has vacated the second floor and the space is now filled with other people. While I'm craning my neck, looking for someone familiar, JD appears and takes me aside.

"Just let go," I say uselessly.

"Hold on. What happened to your head?" JD asks calmly, handing me a napkin. "Why is there blood on your tux?"

"Nothing. I slipped," I mutter, looking down. "That's not blood-it's an AIDS ribbon."

JD flinches. "Victor, we all know Hurley Thompson just pulverized you, so you don't need to-"

"Where's Chloe?" I keep craning my neck, looking out across the room. "Where's Chloe, JD?"

JD breathes in. "That is, however, a problem."

"JD-don't f**k with me!" I'm shouting.

"All I saw was Hurley Thompson dropping a newspaper into Chloe's lap. He leaned into her while he placed his hand in an ice bucket and whispered into her ear until her face-which was staring down at the paper Hurley Thompson dropped into her lap-fell, um, apart."

I'm just staring at JD wide-eyed, wondering at what point in the last ten seconds my hands started gripping his shoulders.

"And?" I'm panting, my entire body goes clammy.

"And she ran out and Hurley lit a cigar, very pleased with himself, and then Baxter Priestly ran after her."

I'm so alarmed by this that I must look really bashed-up, because JD looks into my face and whispers, "Jesus, Victor."

"Everything's still sketchy, JD," I'm saying while clutching the side of my stomach Hurley did the most damage to.

"No," he says. "It's all clear to us." He pauses. "It's only sketchy to you."

"JD, Cindy Crawford always says-"

"Who gives a shit what Cindy Crawford says right now?" JD yells. "What are you talking about?"

I stare at him for a long time, confused, before I push him away and then I turn and race down the staircase, people rotating around me everywhere, cameras flashing, causing me to keep tripping into people who keep propping me up, until I'm finally on the first level, where there's so much cigar and pot and cigarette smoke the air's not breathable and I'm shoving people out of the way, constantly adjusting my focus, music booming out way too loud, minor chords crashing down around me, the Steadicam operator unable to keep up.