Glamorama

Glamorama Page 91

"Because the people you want to impress aren't worth it?"

After taking this in, I clear my throat. "My... emotions at the moment are a little, um, mixed up," I whimper.

"You cater to people who don't really give a damn."

"Oh come on, baby," I exclaim. "They just pretend not to give a damn-"

She cuts me off with a look of total disbelief. "Do you actually listen to yourself?"

I shrug, miserably.

"I know it's difficult for you to adjust to reality, but isn't it time?" She zips one bag up, contemplates another.

"Baby, baby, this has been like the most difficult week, I think, of my life and"-I breathe in-"this has been so scary, so-"

"Oh, this tiny little world of yours," she says, waving me away.

"No, no, really, I'm sick of it, I'm sick of it all too, baby," I say, panting, sitting up in the giant white chair. "I'm sick of being friendly with like people who either hate me or or or are planning to kill me or-"

"Did you actually think you'd get away with this?" she asks, cutting me off.

I sigh, then pause for the appropriate amount of time before asking, "Why not?"

She stares at me, expressionless.

"People get away with more," I mutter.

"That's because everyone's smarter than you," she says. "That's because everything you know is wrong and everyone is smarter than you.

"Baby, that picture... I don't know what it was but that didn't happen, that never happened-"

"What never happened?" she asks, suddenly interested.

"What that photo showed," I say.

"You didn't have sex with or attempt to have sex with or kiss Lauren Hynde?" she asks. "Is that what you're saying?"

I consider this, reword what she asked me, then blurt out, "I'm saying that-"

She moves away from me. "Maybe you come to life when I'm not around-who knows?"

I'm gesturing with my hands, trying to make some kind of point, attempting to form even a sentence. "Didn't you like, um, didn't Von talk to Lauren? Didn't she explain?" I ask hopefully.

"No," she says. "I like Lauren. I just never want to see her again." Chloe checks her watch, mumbles an inaudible curse.

I lift myself up from the chair and move toward the bathroom where Chloe's placing jars filled with creams and oils and powders into another Gucci bag. I notice that the hand mirror I saw by the sink isn't there anymore. A razor blade and a small transparent straw sit by a bottle of perfume and I am not imagining this.

"What?" she asks suddenly, turning around. "Why are you still here?"

"Because..." I smile sadly. "You're... my ideal mate?"

"A mirror's your ideal mate."

"Maybe... " I start, haltingly. "Maybe if you didn't expect so much from me you might not be so... disappointed," I finally admit, and then, watching her reflection in the mirror, "Don't cry."

"I'm not crying," she says, surprised. "I'm yawning."

And back down in the lobby, on my way outside, dazed, shuffling across the marble floor, I bump into Tristan, an ex-model who deals drugs, chatting with Ashton, and Tristan's magnetic in a gorgeous kind of way and though I'm totally absent right now I'm able to instinctively shake his hand, make the prerequisite small talk, avoid the obvious (Buddy Seagull's column, the stains on my shirt, the bruise above my eyebrow), trade compliments about our hair, recommend one or two cool foreign movies, a new band from Nevada ("a really happening state," Tristan assures me), and then we move on.

Outside, on the steps leading down to the sidewalk, I turn around, and through the lobby doors I see Tristan getting into the elevator and I want to ask him who he's going to see and then maybe buy a couple of grams but instead I start panicking because I make a connection and Tristan spots me staring at him and he gives a little wave just as the elevator doors close and a horrible vision breaks open in front of me of Chloe in an ambulance, another detox center in the desert somewhere, another series of failed suicide attempts followed up with a successful one and I cry out and try to run back into the lobby but crew members are struggling to hold me back and I'm crying out "No but why but why this wasn't in the script" until I collapse and a technician props me up on the steps where I'm still freaking out and shouting "But you don't understand you don't understand" and suddenly the director kneels beside me and gently tells the two crew members to let go, that it's okay, shhh.