through the universe, free of worry about anything that might happen back in the world. You couldn’t beat it, a Hollywood star playing what she really was—a goddess.
I didn’t get out of bed all day. I wanted to sleep some more, but I’d already had too much, so I read the gossips and watched the episode of 28 FPS again. Lorn looked good in a white tennis skirt and a sleeveless top that showed glimpses of the sides of her breasts. Once when she was bending over I thought I saw one of her nipples. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About ten that night Rex came around. He was zipped on coke and all finger-snapping, joint-popping energy. He was wearing a long, lightweight cashmere coat over a casual silk-blend suit and he smelled like an expensive clothes store. The feel of the fabric when he hugged me was comforting and clean.
Rex made his money fucking. Blond hair, white teeth, slim and sexy. At first glance a boy with everything Californian. But his skin was pale and the blue eyes didn’t really do that “have a nice day” thing. When you paid attention, when you didn’t just skim the surface, it wasn’t hard to believe the history of suicide attempts he liked to trot out whenever he got the chance.
Karen had brought him home one night after they’d connected in a shared role on a porn flick. It was just work to them and they were never going to be friends, but he and I had hit it off well enough to generate one of those satellite relationships that exist only within certain parameters—always at my apartment, always when Karen wasn’t there. We didn’t go out together, didn’t buddy up for a ball game or sink brews on a standing Friday night bar date, but it was still friendship of a sort.
He threw himself down on the couch.
“Whew, man, I’m flying. Called in today, you weren’t there. Wanted some doughnut action. Needed that sugar. Well, didn’t need it, I guess, but I wanted it, man. I wanted it.”
Rex took a breath and ran his hand over his face. I dug some pills out of my pocket. Rex shook his head.
“What happened with work? It’s not like you.”
I swallowed a Valium and told him Karen was dead, that she was found in the park murdered.
He was glitteringly aghast, his mouth open and his white teeth shining. He shifted quickly to where I was sitting on the bed and put his arm around me. He held me close and I was tempted to interpret it as genuine commiseration. In a way it was. I’m sure he felt sadness at what he perceived to be my loss—sadness for me, sadness that someone he knew was dead. But at the same time, I couldn’t rid myself of the suspicion that what he was really plugged into was a resonance between the loss he imagined me to feel and his own black void of unhappiness.
“Wow, man … I don’t know what to say. I mean, Jesus …”
“It’s not like it wasn’t going to happen someday.”
“Sure, sure. But it brings it home, dude, it brings it home.”
“Mortality?”
“How everything fucks up. How we fuck up everything.”
He was silent for a moment, then: “What happened? I mean, can you talk about it? Is it too soon?”
“You know how we were. I can’t tell you I’m dying inside.”
“But it’s something to assimilate. It’s something to come to terms with.”
At this point I was pretty certain I was right, that Rex was all set to use this situation as a windfall opportunity. He was after a little transposition. He wanted to project his own pain onto the backdrop of Karen’s death and watch it play. But that wasn’t going to work for me. Too complicated. He was going to expect me to be intensely genuine and introspective, and I wasn’t going to be able to explain to him how the death of someone could feel so … peripheral.
“You know, maybe it is too soon.”
“Oh … okay. Sure.”
He looked robbed and for a moment I could see into him, see the horrible twisting beast he had to struggle with each day, and absurdly I felt like I was
I didn’t get out of bed all day. I wanted to sleep some more, but I’d already had too much, so I read the gossips and watched the episode of 28 FPS again. Lorn looked good in a white tennis skirt and a sleeveless top that showed glimpses of the sides of her breasts. Once when she was bending over I thought I saw one of her nipples. I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About ten that night Rex came around. He was zipped on coke and all finger-snapping, joint-popping energy. He was wearing a long, lightweight cashmere coat over a casual silk-blend suit and he smelled like an expensive clothes store. The feel of the fabric when he hugged me was comforting and clean.
Rex made his money fucking. Blond hair, white teeth, slim and sexy. At first glance a boy with everything Californian. But his skin was pale and the blue eyes didn’t really do that “have a nice day” thing. When you paid attention, when you didn’t just skim the surface, it wasn’t hard to believe the history of suicide attempts he liked to trot out whenever he got the chance.
Karen had brought him home one night after they’d connected in a shared role on a porn flick. It was just work to them and they were never going to be friends, but he and I had hit it off well enough to generate one of those satellite relationships that exist only within certain parameters—always at my apartment, always when Karen wasn’t there. We didn’t go out together, didn’t buddy up for a ball game or sink brews on a standing Friday night bar date, but it was still friendship of a sort.
He threw himself down on the couch.
“Whew, man, I’m flying. Called in today, you weren’t there. Wanted some doughnut action. Needed that sugar. Well, didn’t need it, I guess, but I wanted it, man. I wanted it.”
Rex took a breath and ran his hand over his face. I dug some pills out of my pocket. Rex shook his head.
“What happened with work? It’s not like you.”
I swallowed a Valium and told him Karen was dead, that she was found in the park murdered.
He was glitteringly aghast, his mouth open and his white teeth shining. He shifted quickly to where I was sitting on the bed and put his arm around me. He held me close and I was tempted to interpret it as genuine commiseration. In a way it was. I’m sure he felt sadness at what he perceived to be my loss—sadness for me, sadness that someone he knew was dead. But at the same time, I couldn’t rid myself of the suspicion that what he was really plugged into was a resonance between the loss he imagined me to feel and his own black void of unhappiness.
“Wow, man … I don’t know what to say. I mean, Jesus …”
“It’s not like it wasn’t going to happen someday.”
“Sure, sure. But it brings it home, dude, it brings it home.”
“Mortality?”
“How everything fucks up. How we fuck up everything.”
He was silent for a moment, then: “What happened? I mean, can you talk about it? Is it too soon?”
“You know how we were. I can’t tell you I’m dying inside.”
“But it’s something to assimilate. It’s something to come to terms with.”
At this point I was pretty certain I was right, that Rex was all set to use this situation as a windfall opportunity. He was after a little transposition. He wanted to project his own pain onto the backdrop of Karen’s death and watch it play. But that wasn’t going to work for me. Too complicated. He was going to expect me to be intensely genuine and introspective, and I wasn’t going to be able to explain to him how the death of someone could feel so … peripheral.
“You know, maybe it is too soon.”
“Oh … okay. Sure.”
He looked robbed and for a moment I could see into him, see the horrible twisting beast he had to struggle with each day, and absurdly I felt like I was
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