Glamorama by Bret Easton Ellis Read Free Book Online
Authors: Bret Easton Ellis
“She’s between marriages.”
“What did you and Alicia do?”
“We sat around and watched
The Lion King
on video while eating a cantaloupe I found in my backyard, which is not a bad evening, depending on how you define ‘bad evening.’ I made her watch me smoke a cigar and she gave me dieting tips, such as ‘Eschew hors d’oeuvres.’” Pause. “I plan to do the same exact thing with Kurt Cobain’s widow next week.”
“That’s really, uh, y’know, cutting edge, Bill.”
“Right now while
Buzz
is taking my photograph I’m prepping the big new politically correct horror movie. We’ve just been discussing how many rapes should be in it. My partners say two. I say half a dozen.” Pause. “We also need to glamorize the heroine’s disability more.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She doesn’t have a head.”
“Cool, cool, that’s cool.”
“Add to this the fact that my dog just killed himself. He drank a bucket of paint.”
“Hey, Bill,
Flatliners II
or not? Just tell me.
Flatliners II
or no
Flatliners II
. Huh, Bill?”
“Do you know what happens to a dog when he drinks a bucket of paint?” Bill asks, sounding vague.
“Is Shumacher involved or not? Is Kiefer on board?”
“My dog was a sex maniac and very, very depressed. His name was Max the Jew and he was very, very depressed.”
“Well, I guess that’s why, y’know, he drank the paint, right?”
“Could be. It could also be the fact that ABC canceled ‘My So-Called Life.’” He pauses. “It’s all sort of up in the air.”
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘earn your ten percent’?” I’m asking, washing my hands. “Have you seen your mother, baby, standing in the shadows?”
“The center cannot hold, my friend,” Bill drones on.
“Hey Bill—what if there’s
no
center? Huh?” I ask, thoroughly pissed off.
“I’ll pursue that.” Pause. “But right now I am quietly seething that Firhoozi thinks the starfish is hip, so I must go. We will speak as soon as it’s feasibly possible.”
“Bill, I’ve gotta run too, but listen, can we talk tomorrow?” I flip frantically through my daybook. “Um, like at either three-twenty-five or, um, like … four or four-fifteen … or, maybe even at, oh shit, six-ten?”
“Between lunch and midnight I’m collecting art with the cast of ‘Friends.’”
“That’s pretty ultra-arrogant, Bill.”
“Dagby, I must go. Firhoozi wants a profile shot sans starfish.”
“Hey Bill, wait a minute. I just want to know if you’re pushing me for
Flatliners II
. And my name’s not Dagby.”
“If you are not Dagby, then who is this?” he asks vacantly. “Who am I now speaking with if not Dagby?”
“It’s
me
. Victor Ward. I’m opening like the biggest club in New York tomorrow night.”
Pause, then, “No …”
“I modeled for Paul Smith. I did a Calvin Klein ad.”
Pause, then, “No …” I can hear him slouching, repositioning himself.
“I’m the guy who everyone thought David Geffen was dating but wasn’t.”
“That’s really not enough.”
“I date Chloe Byrnes,” I’m shouting. “Chloe Byrnes, like, the supermodel?”
“I’ve heard of
her
but not you, Dagby.”
“Jesus, Bill, I’m on the cover of
YouthQuake
magazine this month. Your Halcion dosage needs trimming, bud.”
“I’m not even thinking about you at this exact moment.”
“Hey,” I shout. “To save my life I dumped ICM for you guys.”
“Listen, Dagby, or whoever this is, I can’t really hear you since I’m on Mulholland now and I’m under a … big long tunnel.” Pause. “Can’t you hear the static?”
“But I just called you, Bill, at your
office
. You told me Firhoozi Zahidi was shooting you in your office. Let me talk to Firhoozi.”
A long pause, then disdainfully Bill says, “You think you’re so clever.”
29
It’s so diabolically crowded outside Bowery Bar that I have to climb over a stalled limo parked crookedly at the curb to even start
“What did you and Alicia do?”
“We sat around and watched
The Lion King
on video while eating a cantaloupe I found in my backyard, which is not a bad evening, depending on how you define ‘bad evening.’ I made her watch me smoke a cigar and she gave me dieting tips, such as ‘Eschew hors d’oeuvres.’” Pause. “I plan to do the same exact thing with Kurt Cobain’s widow next week.”
“That’s really, uh, y’know, cutting edge, Bill.”
“Right now while
Buzz
is taking my photograph I’m prepping the big new politically correct horror movie. We’ve just been discussing how many rapes should be in it. My partners say two. I say half a dozen.” Pause. “We also need to glamorize the heroine’s disability more.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She doesn’t have a head.”
“Cool, cool, that’s cool.”
“Add to this the fact that my dog just killed himself. He drank a bucket of paint.”
“Hey, Bill,
Flatliners II
or not? Just tell me.
Flatliners II
or no
Flatliners II
. Huh, Bill?”
“Do you know what happens to a dog when he drinks a bucket of paint?” Bill asks, sounding vague.
“Is Shumacher involved or not? Is Kiefer on board?”
“My dog was a sex maniac and very, very depressed. His name was Max the Jew and he was very, very depressed.”
“Well, I guess that’s why, y’know, he drank the paint, right?”
“Could be. It could also be the fact that ABC canceled ‘My So-Called Life.’” He pauses. “It’s all sort of up in the air.”
“Have you ever heard the phrase ‘earn your ten percent’?” I’m asking, washing my hands. “Have you seen your mother, baby, standing in the shadows?”
“The center cannot hold, my friend,” Bill drones on.
“Hey Bill—what if there’s
no
center? Huh?” I ask, thoroughly pissed off.
“I’ll pursue that.” Pause. “But right now I am quietly seething that Firhoozi thinks the starfish is hip, so I must go. We will speak as soon as it’s feasibly possible.”
“Bill, I’ve gotta run too, but listen, can we talk tomorrow?” I flip frantically through my daybook. “Um, like at either three-twenty-five or, um, like … four or four-fifteen … or, maybe even at, oh shit, six-ten?”
“Between lunch and midnight I’m collecting art with the cast of ‘Friends.’”
“That’s pretty ultra-arrogant, Bill.”
“Dagby, I must go. Firhoozi wants a profile shot sans starfish.”
“Hey Bill, wait a minute. I just want to know if you’re pushing me for
Flatliners II
. And my name’s not Dagby.”
“If you are not Dagby, then who is this?” he asks vacantly. “Who am I now speaking with if not Dagby?”
“It’s
me
. Victor Ward. I’m opening like the biggest club in New York tomorrow night.”
Pause, then, “No …”
“I modeled for Paul Smith. I did a Calvin Klein ad.”
Pause, then, “No …” I can hear him slouching, repositioning himself.
“I’m the guy who everyone thought David Geffen was dating but wasn’t.”
“That’s really not enough.”
“I date Chloe Byrnes,” I’m shouting. “Chloe Byrnes, like, the supermodel?”
“I’ve heard of
her
but not you, Dagby.”
“Jesus, Bill, I’m on the cover of
YouthQuake
magazine this month. Your Halcion dosage needs trimming, bud.”
“I’m not even thinking about you at this exact moment.”
“Hey,” I shout. “To save my life I dumped ICM for you guys.”
“Listen, Dagby, or whoever this is, I can’t really hear you since I’m on Mulholland now and I’m under a … big long tunnel.” Pause. “Can’t you hear the static?”
“But I just called you, Bill, at your
office
. You told me Firhoozi Zahidi was shooting you in your office. Let me talk to Firhoozi.”
A long pause, then disdainfully Bill says, “You think you’re so clever.”
29
It’s so diabolically crowded outside Bowery Bar that I have to climb over a stalled limo parked crookedly at the curb to even start