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pissed-off gorilla? Victor, get serious.”
    “It’s
not
his girlfriend. It’s Princess Toadstool. And it’s
not
a gorilla,” I stress. “It’s Lemmy Koopa of the evil Koopa clan. And baby, as usual, you’re missing the point.”
    “Please enlighten me.”
    “The whole point of Super Mario Bros. is that it mirrors life.”
    “I’m following.” She checks her nails. “God knows why.”
    “Kill or be killed.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Time is running out.”
    “Gotcha.”
    “And in the end, baby, you … are … alone.”
    “Right.” She stands up. “Well, Victor, that really captures the spirit of our relationship, honey.” She disappears into a closet bigger thanthe bedroom. “If you had to be interviewed by
Worth
magazine on the topic of Damien’s Nintendo stock, you’d want to kill Yoshi too.”
    “I guess this is all just beyond the realm of your experience,” I murmur. “Huh?”
    “What are you doing tonight for dinner?” she calls out from the closet.
    “Why? Where’s Damien?”
    “In Atlantic City. So the two of us can go out since I’m sure Chloe is très exhausted from all dat wittle modeling she had to do today.”
    “I can’t,” I call back. “I’ve got to get to bed early. I’m skipping dinner. I’ve got to go over—oh shit—seating arrangements.”
    “Oh, but baby, I want to go to Nobu tonight,” she whines from the closet. “I want a baby shrimp tempura roll.”
    “You
are
a baby shrimp tempura roll,” I whine back.
    The phone rings, the machine picks up, just new Portishead, then a beep.
    “Hi, Alison, it’s Chloe calling back.” I roll my eyes. “Amber and Shalom and I have to do something for Fashion TV at the Royalton and then I’m having dinner with Victor at Bowery Bar at nine-thirty. I’m so so tired … did shows all day. Okay, I guess you’re not there. Talk to you soon—oh yeah, you have a pass backstage for Todd’s show tomorrow. Bye-bye.” The machine clicks off.
    Silence from the closet, then, low and laced with fury,
“Seating
arrangements? You—have—to—go—to—bed—
early
?”
    “You can’t keep me in your penthouse,” I say. “I’m going back to my plow.”
    “You’re having dinner with
her
?” she screams.
    “Honey, I had no idea.”
    Alison walks out of the closet holding a Todd Oldham wraparound dress in front of her and waits for my reaction, showing it off: not-so-basic black-slash-beige, strapless, Navajo-inspired and neon quilted.
    “That’s a Todd Oldham, baby,” I finally say.
    “I’m wearing it tomorrow night.” Pause. “It’s an
original,”
she whispers seductively, eyes glittering. “I’m gonna make your little girlfriend
look like shit!”
    Alison reaches over and slaps the controls out of my hand and turns on a Green Day video and dances over to the Vivienne Tam-designedmirror, studying herself holding the dress in it, and then completes a halfhearted swirl, looking very happy but also very stressed.
    I check my nails. It’s so cold in this apartment that frost accumulates on the windows. “Is it just me or am I getting chilly in here?”
    Alison holds the dress up one more time, squeals maniacally and rushes back into the closet. “What did you say, baby?”
    “Did you know vitamins strengthen your nails?”
    “Who told you that, baby?” she calls out.
    “Chloe did,” I mutter, biting at a hangnail.
    “That poor baby. Oh my god, she’s so stupid.”
    “She just got back from the MTV awards. She had a nervous breakdown before it, y’know, so be
reasonable.”
    “Major,” Alison calls out. “Her smack days are behind her, I take it.”
    “Just be patient. She’s very unstable,” I say. “And yes, her smack days
are
behind her.”
    “No help from you, I’m sure.”
    “Hey, she got a huge amount of help from me,” I say, sitting up, paying more attention now. “If it wasn’t for me she might be dead, Alison.”
    “If it wasn’t for you, pea brain, she might not have shot up the