Evelyn ignores this, pulls off her Tina Chow earrings. "He's a sculptor," she says tersely.
"Oh bullshit," Timothy says. "I remember talking to him at Odeon." He turns to me again. "This was when he ordered the tuna cappuccino and I'm sure if left unattended would have ordered the salmon au lait, and he told me he did parties, so that technically makes him - I don't know, correct me if I'm wrong, Evelyn - a caterer. He's a caterer!" Price cries out. "Not a f**king sculptor!"
"Oh gosh calm down," Evelyn says, rubbing more cream into her face.
"That's like saying you're a poet." Timothy is drunk and I'm beginning to wonder when he will vacate the premises.
"Well," Evelyn begins, "I've been known to - "
"You're a f**king word processor!" Tim blurts out. He walks over to Evelyn and bows next to her, checking out his reflection in the mirror.
"Have you been gaining weight, Tim?" Evelyn asks thoughtfully. She studies Tim's head in the mirror and says, "Your face looks... rounder."
Timothy, in retaliation, smells Evelyn's neck and says, "What is that fascinating... odor?"
"Obsession." Evelyn smiles flirtatiously, gently pushing Timothy away. "It's Obsession. Patrick, get your friend away from me."
"No, no, wait," Timothy says, sniffing loudly. "It's not Obsession. It's... it's..." and then, with a face twisted in mock horror, "It's... Oh my god, it's Q.T. Instatan!"
Evelyn pauses and considers her options. She inspects Price's head one more time. "Are you losing your hair?"
"Evelyn," Tim says. "Don't change the subject but..." And then, genuinely worried, "Now that you mention it... too much gel?" Concerned, he runs a hand over it.
"Maybe," Evelyn says. "Now make yourself useful and do sit down."
"Well, at least it's not green and I haven't tried to cut it with a butter knife," Tim says, referring to Vanden's dye job and Stash's admittedly cheap, bad haircut. A haircut that's bad because it's cheap.
"Are you gaining weight?" Evelyn asks, more seriously this time.
"Jesus," Tim says, about to turn away, offended. "No, Evelyn."
"Your face definitely looks... rounder," Evelyn says. "Less... chiseled."
"I don't believe this." Tim again.
He looks deep into the mirror. She continues brushing her hair but the strokes are less definite because she's looking at Tim. He notices this and then smells her neck and I think he licks at it quickly and grins.
"Is that Q.T.?" he asks. "Come on, you can tell me. I smell it."
"No," Evelyn says, unsmiling. "You use that."
"No. As a matter of fact I don't. I go to a tanning salon. I'm quite honest about that," he says. "You're using Q.T."
"You're projecting," she says lamely.
"I told you," Tim says. "I go to a tanning salon. I mean I know it's expensive but..." Price blanches. "Still, Q.T.?"
"Oh how brave to admit you go to a tanning salon," she says.
"Q.T." He chuckles.
"I don't know what you're talk ing about," Evelyn says and resumes brushing her hair. "Patrick, escort your friend out of here."
Now Price is on his knees and he smells and sniffs at Evelyn's bare legs and she's laughing. I tense up.
"Oh god," she moans loudly. "Get out of here."
"You are orange." He laughs, on his knees, his head in her lap. "You look orange."
"I am not," she says, her voice a low prolonged growl of pain, ecstasy. "Jerk."
I lie on the bed watching the two of them. Timothy is in her lap trying to push his head under the Ralph Lauren robe. Evelyn's head is thrown back with pleasure and she is trying to push him away, but playfully, and hitting him only lightly on his back with her Jan Hove brush. I am fairly sure that Timothy and Evelyn are having an affair. Timothy is the only interesting person I know.
"You should go," she says finally, panting. She has stopped struggling with him.
He looks up at her, flashing a toothy, good-looking smile, and says, "Anything the lady requests."
"Thank you," she says in a voice that sounds to me tinged with disappointment.
He stands up. "Dinner? Tomorrow?"
"I'll have to ask my boyfriend," she says, smiling at me in the mirror.
