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"Warhol," I say softly, hurt "Baby"

She gets up off the bed and moves into the bathroom, splashes water on her face, then rubs Preparation H under her eyes "The fashion world is dying anyway," Chloe yawns, stretching, walking over to one of her walk-in closets, opening it "I , baby," I say vaguely, e is this?" she cries out, waving her ar for a copy of the Flatliners tape I left over here last week but can only find an old Arsenio that Chloe was on, two movies she was in, Party Mountain with Emery Roberts and Teen Toith Hurley Thompson, another documentary about breast-implant safety and last week’s "Melrose Place" On the screen now, a corainy fuzz, a reproduction of a reproduction When I turn around, Chloe is holding up a dress in front of a full-length inal Todd Oldhae dress, strapless, Navajo-inspired and neon quilted

My first reaction: she stole it from Alison

"Um, baby" I clearain "Rupert says I wasn’t doing it right"

"Uh-huh Okay, I’ll take some time off and we’ll practice" I pause, then carefully ask, "But the dress?"

"You like it?" she asks, brightening up, turning around "I’ht"

"Um baby?"

"What? What is it?" She puts the dress back in the closet

"Oh honey," I say, shaking my head "I don’t know about that dress"

"You don’t have to wear it, Victor"

"But then neither do you, right?"

"Stop I can’t deal with-"

"Baby, you’re gonna look like Pocahontas in that thing"

"Todd gave -"

"How about so closer to Armani-ish?" Ifor you"

"Victor" She blocks the closet door "I’ that" She suddenly looks down at my ankles "Are those scratches?"

"Where?" I look down too