Glamorama
"What have you got, Victor?" Buddy sighs.
"Baby, rumor has it that in your possession is a picture of, um, well, me."
"Victor, I've got about a million."
"No. A specific picture."
"Specific? A specific picture? I don't think so, pookie."
"It's of me and a, um, certain girl."
"Who? Gwyneth Paltrow? Irina? Kristin Herold? Cheri Oteri?"
"No," I shout. "Goddamnit-it's of me and Alison Poole."
"You and Alison Poole? Doing-ahem-what?"
"Having a little iced latte while playing footsie on the Internet, you raging f**khead."
"Alison Poole-as in Damien Nutchs Ross's girlfriend? That Alison Poole?"
"She's also f**king like half the Knicks, so I'm not alone."
"A naughty boy. Living on the edge. Not so nice."
"What is that-Bon Jovi's greatest hits? Listen to-"
"Me nonethical?" I choke. "Whoa-wait a minute. You peddled Robert Maxwell's autopsy photos, you scumbag. You had f**king Polaroids of Kurt Cobain's blown-apart skull. You had shots of River Phoenix convulsing on Sunset. You-"
"I also gave you your first break in the media, you ungrateful little shit."
"And you're totally, totally right. Listen, I wasn't putting you down. I meant to say I was impressed."
"Victor, you get written about, mainly by me, for doing nothing."
"No, man, I mean it, take it to the limit, that's my motto, so y'know-"
"Successful sucking up requires talent. Or at least a species of charm that you simply do not possess."
"Bottom line: what can I give you in exchange for the photo?"
"What have you got? And let's make this fast. I'm about to be interviewed by `A Current Affair.'"
"Well, um, what do you want to, like, know?"
"Is Chloe dating Baxter Priestly and are you all involved in some kind of hot sicko threesome?"
"Oh shit, man-no. For the last time-no," I groan. And then, after Buddy's suspicious pause, "And I'm not dating Stephen Dorff."
"Why is Chloe doing so much runway work this season?"
"Oh, that's easy: it's her last year as a runway model. It's her big farewell, so to speak," I sigh, relieved.
"Why is Baxter Priestly at all her shows?"
I suddenly sit up and shout into the phone, "Who is this little shit?" Trying to relax, I shift modes. "Hey Buddy-what about, um, Winona?"
"What about Winona?"
"She's, um, y'know, coming to the opening tonight."
"Well, that's an auspicious start, Victor. Oh sorry, my ass just yawned. Who's she with?" he sighs.
"Dave Pirner and the Wrigley's Doublemint gum heiress and the bassist from Falafel Mafia."
"Doing what? Where?"
"At the Four Seasons, discussing why Reality Bites didn't open bigger.
"My ass is yawning again."
I pause, staring hard out the window. "Hurley Thompson," I finally say, hoping he'll let it pass.
"Now I'm vaguely enthralled."
"Um, oh shit, Buddy..." I stop. "This is totally not from me."
"I never reveal my sources, so please just tell your master what's going on.
"Just that, y'know, Hurley's, like, in town."
Pause. "I'm getting a little hot." The sound of computer keys clicking, and then, "Where?"
"You're stroking my boner," Buddy says. "Why isn't he in Phoenix shooting Sun City 3 with the rest of the cast?"
Pause. "Um, Sherry Gibson..."
"I'm getting hot. You're getting me very very hot, Victor."
"She... dumped him..."
"I'm rock hard. Continue."
"Because of... a freebasing problem. His."
"You're gonna make me come."
"And he, um, beat... Sherry up."
"I'm coming, Victor-"
"And so Sherry had to drop out of `Baywatch Nights'-"
"I'm shooting my load-"
"Because her face is all messed up-"
"I'm coming I'm coming I'm-"
"And he is now looking for a rehab clinic in the Poconos-"