"Who's this?" Alison asks Damien dully.
"This is Baxter Priestly, baby," Damien says. "He wants to say hi and, um, wish you well."
"Yeah, yeah, you look really familiar," Alison says, totally bored, waving down the bartender, mouthing Another.
"He's in the new Darren Star show," I say. "And he's in the band Hey That's My Shoe."
"Who are you in the Darren Star show?" Alison asks, perking up.
"He's the Wacky Guy," Lauren says, staring at the bartender.
"Right, he's the Wacky Guy," I tell Alison as Damien pulls me away and uses my body as a barrier to push through the crowd and up the first flight of stairs to the deserted second floor, where he guides me toward a railing overlooking the party. We immediately light cigarettes. On this floor twenty tables have been set up for the dinner and really handsome busboys are lighting candles. On all the TV monitors: fashionable static.
"What in the f**k?" Damien inhales deeply on the cigarette.
"They're just, um, lighting the candles for dinner," I say, gesturing innocently at the busboys.
Damien smacks me lightly on the side of the head.
"Why in the f**k is Chloe's dress exactly like Alison's?"
"Damien, I know they look alike but in actuality-"
He pushes me toward the railing and points down. "What are you telling me, Victor?"
"It's a-it's supposedly a, um, very popular dress this... y'know..." I trail off.
Damien waits, wide-eyed. "Yes?"
"... season?" I squeak out.
Damien runs a hand over his face and stares over the railing to make sure Alison and Chloe haven't seen each other yet, but Alison's flirting with Baxter and Chloe's answering questions about how high the fabulous factor is tonight while a line of TV crews jostle for the perfect angle and Damien's muttering "Why isn't she wearing that hat you picked up?" and I'm making excuses ("Oribe said it was a no-no") and he keeps asking "Why isn't she wearing the goddamn hat you picked up?" and Lauren's talking to f**king Chris O'Donnell and Damien guzzles down a large glass of Scotch then sets it on the railing with a shaky hand and I'm kind of like infused with panic and so tired.
"Damien, let's just try to have a cool-"
"I don't think I care anymore about that," he says.
"About what? About having a cool time?" I'm asking. "Don't say that." And then after a long patch of silence: "I really don't know how to respond to that." And then after a longer patch of silence: "You look really great tonight."
"About her," he says. "About Alison. I don't think I care about that."
I'm staring out over the crowd, my eyes involuntarily refocusing on the expressions Lauren's making while Chris O'Donnell chats her up, swigging from a bottle of Grolsch, Lauren seductively playing with the damp label, models everywhere. "Why... did you ever?" I hear myself ask, thinking, At least the press will be good.
Damien turns to me and I look away but meet his gaze when he says, "Whose money do you think this all is?"
"Pardon?" I ask, leaning away, my neck and forehead soaked with sweat.
"Who do you think is bankrolling all of this?" he sighs.
A long pause. "Various... orthodontists... from, um, Brentwood?" I ask, squinting, wiping my forehead. "Um, you. Aren't you like responsible for all of, um, this?"
"It's hers," he shouts. "It's all Alison's."
"But..." I stop, swaying.
Damien waits, looking at me.
"But... I don't know how to respond to... that."
"Haven't you been paying attention?" he snaps.
We'll slide down the surface of things...
"They found Mica," Damien's saying.
"Who?" I ask numbly, staring off.
"The police, Victor," he says. "They found Mica."
"Well, it's a little too late," I'm saying, trying to recover. "Right? Do not pass Go? Do not collect two million bucks, right? Junior's doing a great job and personally I always felt Mica was sort of-"
"Victor, she's dead," Damien says tiredly. "She was found in a Dumpster in Hell's Kitchen. She was beaten with a hammer and... Jesus Christ"-he breathes in, waves down into the crowd at Elizabeth Berkley and Craig Bierko, then brings his hand to his mouth-"eviscerated."