Bret Ellis - Glamorama

Glamorama

BretEaston Ellis

There wasno time when you nor I nor these kings did not exist.

Krishna

You makea mistake if you see what we do as merely political.

-Hitler

1

33

"Specksspecks all over the thirdpanel, see?no, that onethe second one up fromthe floor and I wanted to point this out to someone yesterday but aphoto shoot intervened and Yaki Nakamari or whatever the hell thedesigner's name isa master craftsman notmistookme for someone else so I couldn't register the complaint, but,gentlemenand ladiesthere they are: specks,annoying, tiny specks, and they don't look accidental but likethey were somehow done by a machineso I don't want a lot ofdescription, just the story, streamlined, no frills, the lowdown:who, what, where, when and don't leave out why, though I'm gettingthe distinct impression by the looks on your sorry faces that whywon't get answerednow, come on, goddamnit, what's thestory?"

Nobody around here has to wait long for someone to say something.

"Baby, George Nakashima designed this bararea," JD quietly corrects me. "Not, um, Yaki Nakamashi, Imean Yuki Nakamorti, I meanoh shit, Peyton, get me out ofthis."

"Yoki Nakamuri was approvedfor this floor," Peyton says.

"Oh yeah?" I ask. "Approved bywho?"

"Approved by, well, moi," Peyton says.

A pause. Glares targeted at Peyton and JD.

"Who the fuck is Moi?" I ask. "I have no fucking ideawho this Moi is, baby."

"Victor, please," Peyton says. "I'm sure Damien wentover this with you."

"Damien did, JD. Damien did,Peyton. But just tell me who Moi is, baby," I exclaim. "BecauseI'm, like, shvitzing."

"Moi is Peyton, Victor," JD says quietly.

"I'm Moi," Peyton says, nodding. "Moi is, um, French."

"Are you sure these specks aren'tsupposed to be here?" JD tentatively touches the panel. "Imean, maybe it's supposed to be, oh, I don't know, in orsomething?"

"Wait." I raise a hand. "You'resaying these specks are in?"

"Victorwe've got a long list ofthings to check, baby." JD holds up the long list of things tocheck. "The specks will be taken care of. Someone will escortthe specks out of here. There's a magician waiting downstairs."

"By tomorrow night?" I roar. "Byto-mor-row night, JD?"

"It can be handled by tomorrow, no?" JD looks at Peyton,who nods.

"Around here, `tomorrow night' means anywhere from five days toa month. Jesus, does anybody notice I'm seething?"

"None of us have been exactly sedentary, Victor."

"I think the situation is simple enough:those"I point"are specks. Do you needsomeone to decipher that sentence for you, JD, or are you, y'know,okay with it?"

The "reporter" from Detailsstands with us. Assignment: follow me around for a week. Headline:THE MAKING OF A CLUB. Girl: push-up bra, scads of eyeliner, a Sovietsailor's cap, plastic flower jewelry, rolled-up copy of W tuckedunder a pale, worked-out arm. Uma Thurman if Uma Thurman was fivefeet two and asleep. Behind her, some guy wearing a Velcro vest overa rugby shirt and a leather windjammer follows us, camcording thescene.

"Hey baby." I inhale on a Marlboro someone's handed me."What do you think about the specks?"

Girl reporter lowers her sunglasses. "I'm really not sure."She thinks about what position she should take.

"East Coast girls are hip," I shrug. "I really digthose styles they wear."

"I don't think I'm really part of the story," she says.

"You think any of these bozos are?" I snort. "Spareme."

From the top floor, Beau leans over the railingand calls down, "VictorChloe's on line ten."

Girl reporter immediately lifts the W, revealing a notepad, on whichshe doodles something, predictably animated for a moment.

I call up, staring intently at the specks:"Tell her I'm busy. I'm in a meeting. It's an emergency. Tellher I'm in a meeting and it's an emergency. I'll call her backafter I put the fire out."

"Victor," Beau calls down. "Thisis the sixth time she's called today. This is the thirdtime she's called in the last hour."

"Tell her I'll see her at Doppelganger'sat ten." I kneel down, along with Peyton and JD, and run my handalong the panel, pointing out where the specks begin and end and thenstart up again. "Specks, man, look at these fuckers. They glow.They're glowing, JD," I whisper. "Jesus, they'reeverywhere." Suddenly I notice an entire new patch and yelp,gaping, "And I think they're spreading. I don't thinkthat patch was here before? I swallow, then croak in a rush, "Mymouth is incredibly dry because of thiscould someone get me anArizona diet iced tea in a bottle, not a can?"

"Didn't Damien discuss the design with you, Victor?" JDasks. "Didn't you know the existence of these specks?"

"I don't know anything, JD. Nothing, nada.Remember that. I . . . know . . . nothing. Never assume I knowanything. Nada. Nothing. I know nothing, not a thing. Never"

"I get it, I get it," JD says wearily, standing up.

"I really can't see anything, baby," Peyton says, still onthe floor.

JD sighs. "Even Peyton can't see them, Victor."

"Ask the vampire to take off his fucking sunglasses," Isnarl. "Spare me, man."

"I will not tolerate being called a vampire, Victor."Peyton pouts.

"What? You tolerate being sodomized butnot being called Dracula in jest? Am I on the sameplanet? Let's move on." I wave my arm, gesturing at somethinginvisible.

As the entire group follows me downstairstoward the third floor, the chefBongo from Venezuela viaVunderbahr, Moonclub, Paddy-O and MasaMasalights a cigaretteand lowers his sunglasses while trying to keep up with me. "Victor,we must talk." He coughs, waves smoke away. "Please, myfeet are killing me."

The group stops. "Uno momento, Bongo,"I say, noticing the worried glances he's throwing Kenny Kenny, who'sconnected in some weird way to Glorious Foods and has yet to beinformed he has nothing to do with catering tomorrow night's dinner.Peyton, JD, Bongo, Kenny Kenny, camcorder guy and Details girlwait for me to do something, and since I'm at a loss I peer over thethird-floor railing. "Come on, guys. Shit, I mean I've got threemore floors and five more bars to check. Please, give me some space.This is all very hard. Those specks almost made me literally sick."

"Victor, no one would deny the existence of the specks,"Peyton says carefully. "But you have to place the specks withina, um, certain, well, context."

On one of the monitors lining the walls on the third floor, MTV, acommercial, Helena Christensen, "Rock the Vote."

"Beau!" I yell up. "Beau?

Beau leans over the top railing. "Chloe says she'll be at MetroCC at eleven-thirty."

"Wait, BeauIngrid Chavez? HasIngrid Chavez RSVP'd?" I yell up.

"I'm checkingwait, for the dinner?"

"Yes, and I'm gritting my teeth, Beau. Check the Cs for dinner."

"Oh my god I have got to speak to you,Victor," Bongo says in an accent so thick I'm unsure of itsorigin, grabbing my arm. "You must let me have my timewith you."

"Bongo, why don't you just get get the the hell out of here,"Kenny Kenny says, his face twisted. "Here, Victor, try acrouton."

I snatch one out of his hands. "Mmm, rosemary. Delish, dude."

"It is sage, Victor. Sage."

"You you sh-sh-should go to hell," Bongo sputters. "Andtake that sickening crouton with you."

"Will both of you mos take a Xanax andshut the fuck up? Go bake some pastries or something. Beaugoddamnit!Speak to me!"

"Naomi Campbell, Helena Christensen, CindyCrawford, Sheryl Crow, David Charvet, Courteney Cox, Harry Connick,Jr., Francisco Clemente, Nick Constantine, Zoe Cassavetes, NicolasCage, Thomas Calabro, Cristi Conway, Bob Collacello, Whitfield Crane,John Cusack, Dean Cain, Jim Courier, Roger Clemens, Russell Crowe,Tia Carrere and Helena Bonham Carterbut I'm not sure if sheshould be under