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"Hey, it's the twentysomething Oscars."

"Exactly."Advertisement

A giant billboard of Chloe that went up last week above the Toys '?' Us on Park suddenly comes into sharp focus through the dead trees, her eyes glaring down at us, and Lauren sees it too and then I'm looking back at the building the club is in and the windows appear blackened in the cold light of late afternoon.

"I hate this angle," I mutter, pulling us out of the shot and steering Lauren across Park so we have some privacy on a street behind the Zeckendorf Towers. She lights a cigarette. I light one too.

"He was probably watching us," I say.

"So act natural," she says. "You don't know me anyway."

"I want to know you," I tell her. "Can we see each other tomorrow?"

"Aren't you going to be too busy basking in the glow of your success?"

"Yeah, but I want to share it with you," I say. "Lunch?"

"I can't," she says, taking another drag. "I have a luncheon at Chanel."

"What do you want, Lauren?" I'm asking. "Some yuppie guy to take you out to Le Cirque every night?"

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"What's better?" she asks back. "Unable to pay your rent and depressed and trembling in the local Kentucky Fried Chicken?"

"Oh please. That's the only alternative?"

"You'd marry him if you could, Victor."

"Damien's totally not my type, baby."

"That's probably not true," she says softly.

"You want him to give you-what? Things? You want to discover the true meaning of suburban life? You think that goombah's even in the Social Register?"

"Damien is in the Social Register."

"Well, yeah, right, sure."

"There was a time, Victor, when I wanted you," she says, taking a drag on the cigarette. "There was actually a moment, Victor, when all I ever wanted was you." Pause. "I find it hard to believe myself, but well, there it is."

"Baby, you're cool," I say very softly. "Please-you're very cool."

"Oh stop it, Victor," she says. "You're so full of shit."

"What? You're still not into me?"

"I need a commitment, Victor," she says. "You're the last person on earth I'd ever ask for one from."

"Like you're gonna get it from Damien Nutchs Ross? Spare me, baby. Just spare me."

She finishes the cigarette and starts to move slowly up Park.

"How long have you been doing it with Alison Poole?"

"Hey, watch it." Almost instinctively I look for Duke or Digby, but they're not around. "Why do you think that shit's true?"

"Is it true?"

"If it is: how do you know?"

"Oh god, Victor, who doesn't?"

"What does that mean?"

"The only two books she owns are the Bible and The Andy Warhol Diaries, and the Bible was a gift," Lauren mutters. "Queen of the f**king pig people."

"I guess I'm not following."

"That doesn't sound like you, Victor." She smiles at me and then says, "It's nice to have someone responsible around-"

"You mean loaded. You mean rich. You mean moola."

"Maybe."

"What? You don't like me because maybe I'm hustling a little? You don't like me because I'm like affected by the recession?"

"Victor," she says, "if only you cared this much when you first met me."

I lean in, kiss her on the mouth hard, and I'm surprised that she lets me and after I pull away she presses her face up into mine, wanting the kiss to continue, her hand clutching mine, her fingers grasping my fingers. Finally I break it off and mumble that I've got to get uptown and in a very casual, hip way, without even really trying, I hop on the Vespa, kick it into gear and speed up Park without looking back, though if I had been I would've seen Lauren yawning while she waved for a cab.

14

A black Jeep, its top up, its windows tinted, wheels in behind me on 23rd Street and as I zoom through the Park Avenue tunnel whoever's driving flips on his brights and closes in, the Jeep's fender grazing the back of the Vespa's wheel guard.

I swerve onto the dividing line, oncoming traffic racing toward me while I bypass the row of cabs on my side, heading toward the wraparound at Grand Central. I accelerate up the ramp, zoom around the curve, swerving to miss a limo idling in front of the Grand Hyatt, and then I'm back on Park without any hassles until I hit 48th Street, where I look over my shoulder and spot the Jeep a block behind me. pqdm.com