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"The proverbial show is on the proverbial road, dude," I assure hi at Chloe

After he leaves I finish the joint, then look atone so I inspect e," Chloe says "And I need souy, babe"

Chloe slouches in the booth, looks at ustedly

"What? Hey, he has his own coat of arms"

"Who told you that?"

"He did He told me he has his own coat of arms"

"Spare me," Chloe says

Chloe picks up the check and in order to downplay the situation I lean in to kiss her, the swar the kind of disturbance we’re used to

28

Stills froned by Den Flavin: two Toshiyuki Kita hop sofas, an expanse of white-ift from Bruce and Nan Weber-dozens of white French tulips, a StairMaster and a free-weight set, photography books-Matthew Rolston, Annie Leibovitz, Herb Ritts-all signed, a Faberge Ie plain portrait of Chloe by Richard Avedon, sunglasses scattered all over the place, a Helh the lobby of the Malperisa in Milan while nobody notices, a large Williaiant posters for the movies Butterfield 8, The Bachelor Party with Carolyn Jones, Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s A giant fax sheet taped above Chloe’s makeup table lists Monday 9am Byron Lars, 11am Mark Eisen, 2pm Nicole Miller, 6pm Ghost, Tuesday 10am Ralph Lauren, Wednesday 11am Anna Sui, 2pm Calvin Klein, 4pm Bill Blass, 7pm Isaac Mizrahi, Thursday 9am Donna Karan, 5pn currency and empty Glacier bottles litter tables and countertops everywhere In her refrigerator the breakfast Luna has already prepared: ruby-red grapefruit, Evian, iced herbal tea, nonfat plain yogurt with blackberries, a quarter of a poppy- seed bagel, soa if it’s a "special day" Gilles Bensinion, Juliette Lewis, Patrick Deh and Baxter Priestly have all left es

I take a shower, rub some Preparation H and Clinique Eye Fitness undermachine: Ellen Von Unwerth, Eric Stoltz, Alison Poole, Nicolas Cage, Nicollette Sheridan, Stephen Dorff and somebody ominous from TriStar When I come out of the bathroom with a Ralph Lauren fluffy torapped aroundher knees to her chest Tears fill her eyes, she shudders, takes a Xanax, wards off another anxiety attack On the large-screen TV is a docuers of breast i to soothe her "I take Halcion, okay? I had half a bacon sandwich the other day We s

"Reme it different colors and all you did was cry?"

"Victor, I was suicidal," she sobs "I almost overdosed"

"Baby, the point is you never lost a booking"

"Victor, I’m twenty-six That’s a hundred and five in ot has to, like, split" I rub her shoulders "You’re an icon, baby," I whisper into her ear "You are the guideline" I kiss her neck lightly "You personify the physical ideal of your day," and then, "Baby, you’re not just aher face in my hands, I tell her, "Beauty is in the soul"

"But my soul doesn’t do twenty runway shows," she cries out "My soul isn’t on the cover of fking Harper’s nexta Lancoasps, the whole bit, the end of the world, the end of everything

"Baby" I pull back "I don’t want to wake up and find you’ve freaked out about your i out in Hollywood at the Chateau Mar with Kiefer and Dermot and Sly So y’know, um, chill out, baby"

After ten minutes of silence or maybe two the Xanax kicks in and she concedes, "I’ a little better"

"Baby, Andy once said that beauty is a sign of intelligence"

She turns slowly to look ather nose "Andy Kaufman? Andy Griffith? Who in the hell told you this? Andy Rooney?"